Книга - Love is the Drug

Love is the Drug
Ashley Croft


It’s all in the chemistry…Sisters Sarah and Molly are close, but they couldn’t be more different. Sarah runs a craft business and is obsessed with all things shiny and glam, whilst Molly is much more at home in her white coat and goggles, working in a science lab.When Molly is put onto a new assignment, she’s over the moon. It’s a high-profile, top secret project – and she has a handsome new boss to ogle at when she’s not bending over a petri dish…But when Sarah finds herself on the painful end of a disastrous break-up, no amount of Ben & Jerry’s or trashy rom-coms can cheer her up. She wants to take a more drastic approach to dealing with her heartbreak, and one that only her sister – and perhaps a sprinkle of science – can help with . . .Will Sarah find love where she least expects it, or is it really all in the chemistry?









The Love Solution

ASHLEY CROFT








Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Phillipa Ashley 2019

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com (http://shutterstock.com)

Emojis © Shutterstock.com (http://shutterstock.com)

Philippa Ashley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008294885

Ebook Edition © August 2019 ISBN: 9780008294878

Version: 2019-07-15


For my dear friend, Janice Hume, and in memory of her sister, Alison


For there is no friend like a sister

In calm or stormy weather;

To cheer one on the tedious way,

To fetch one if one goes astray,

To lift one if one totters down,

To strengthen whilst one stands.

Christina Rossetti


Table of Contents

Cover (#uff561e34-eecd-5577-816d-1e37b5431bf7)

Title Page (#ua0f1905c-eeba-5e09-9100-93b94548212f)

Copyright (#u65cc74f2-03b2-5976-b216-ff06d331911d)

Dedication (#uf2b97726-8dcb-5713-aa7c-c9cdcec3d908)

Epigraph (#ue093899e-7b60-54fb-a0e7-16201a1a3851)

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Discover More by Phillipa Ashley

About the Publisher




PROLOGUE (#ucff8f2dd-748b-53af-8320-90e396184d85)


‘Sarah. I’m sure you’ll think this is a very stupid question, but have you any idea what your sister is doing crawling under the rhododendrons?’

Sarah Havers sighed and put down the earring she’d been trying to finish for the past hour. One was already complete and lay on the felt mat on the kitchen table. The earrings were delicate drops fitted with three tiny shells in summery blues and seaweedy greens. Sarah was making them for her sister Molly’s birthday, although Molly – currently stuck under a bush in the garden – didn’t know it.

Their mother, Naomi, was standing in the open doorway that led from the kitchen to the rear garden of their house. It was early April but her mum was wearing a silky shift dress and a thin cropped jacket and the chilly evening breeze – which blew straight from the Urals to Cambridge, according to an urban myth – was making Sarah’s fingers too cold to work.

Her mum peered into the lengthening shadows of the garden. ‘Oh no, she’s disappeared now. We’re going to be late.’ She stepped down onto the patio. ‘Molly Jane Havers! Come out of there this minute.’

Trying to block out the noise, Sarah picked up the earring and focused on teasing shut the wire loop with her pliers. Even though she’d made countless pairs, the job still required concentration and all the distractions were doing her head in. On the other hand, it was fun to hear her younger sister treated like a toddler.

Their mother groaned in frustration. ‘What on earth is she doing out there?’

‘Trying to catch a frog, probably,’ Sarah muttered, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she focused on the earring. The loop was almost closed. One. More. Tiny … tweak would do it.

‘A frog? God, no. What does she want a frog for?’

‘Dunno. I think she wants to cut it up at school.’

‘What? You’re joking?’

Sarah cursed as her pliers crushed the delicate wire into a pretzel. ‘Oh, shit!’

‘Sarah, stop swearing,’ her mother called but she was already on her way onto the lawn. Her voice rose higher. ‘Molly! Stop that. Leave that poor creature alone.’

With a sigh, Sarah laid down her pliers next to the wire and beads. She should really be revising for her upcoming A levels, but creating jewellery from shimmering shells and beads was far more fascinating than poring over Business Studies papers. She got up and stood in the doorway, peering out into the shadows.

Her mum’s new heels sank into the turf as she tottered over to the bush, which Molly was crawling out of backwards like a demented crab. Sarah rolled her eyes as her sister scrambled to her feet, brushing blossom and leaves from a sweatshirt with a graphic photo of a giant tarantula on the chest.

Sarah despaired. Her younger sister was a fully paid-up member of the Geek Club. Seeing that horrific sweatshirt and her dirty jeans, Sarah wondered if Molly would even wear the earrings that she’d been making for her upcoming fifteenth birthday. Judging by Molly’s taste for things that crawled and skittered, the earrings ought to have featured snails and tarantulas, but shells and starfish were as far as Sarah was prepared to go. She went inside as Molly trudged to the house, their mum tottering after her.

Molly leaned against the kitchen worktop and Naomi folded her arms. ‘Molly. Is it true you want a frog to dissect? Please tell me now,’ she said.

Molly laughed. ‘Shit, no. Not to dissect, anyway. To study.’

‘You can’t take a live frog to school and please stop swearing.’

Molly slid a sly glance at Sarah. ‘Maybe I could take Sarah’s hamster instead?’

Sarah shrieked. ‘You dare!’

Their mum groaned. ‘Girls. For God’s sake, will you please hurry up and get ready? Dad and I have to leave very soon or we’ll be late for our very special anniversary dinner.’

‘I was only joking about Roger,’ said Molly, as their mother locked the back door.

Sarah snorted. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’

Molly gave a smug grin and pointed at Sarah. ‘Ah. Got you. Actually, I wasn’t after a frog, I was looking for my cuddly Ebola germ.’ She turned to her mother who was brushing pollen off her new dress. ‘Sarah’s been winding you up, Mum.’

‘Maybe but I’m not the one with fox poo on her jeans,’ Sarah shot back, angry for letting herself fall for Molly’s teasing.

Molly glanced down at her muddy jeans. ‘What? Shit!’

Their father stuck his head around the kitchen door. ‘Molly. Can you not use that word quite so often, and can everyone get a move on, please?’

‘I am trying, Will,’ said their mum, then caught sight of her feet. ‘Oh shit, look at my new heels. They’re covered in mud and grass. I’ll have to clean them before we set off for Carol’s.’

‘Can you not use that word quite so often, Mum?’ said Molly, picking a biscuit out of the barrel. Sarah tried not to giggle. She could strangle Molly sometimes but her one-liners were very funny.

‘Molly, don’t try to be too smart,’ said their dad and tapped his watch. ‘The traffic will be murder if we don’t get a move on. It is our anniversary, after all. The first time we get a weekend away from the girls in years and we might be late.’

‘Yes, it is our twentieth wedding anniversary,’ said their mother, emphasising the words in a dramatic way. ‘And we’re off to a very posh hotel for the weekend if we can ever get our daughters to leave the house.’

‘OK, OK. Enough with the guilt trip. I get the message,’ said Sarah, rolling the pliers and other tools up into their felt case.

‘Thank you,’ said her father. ‘Now, I’m going to pack the car and I expect everyone to be ready by the time I’m finished.’

Ignoring her father, Molly’s bottom lip jutted. ‘I do not have fox shit on my jeans,’ she said mutinously.

‘Ha. Got you,’ Sarah said with a triumphant grin that she knew would drive Molly mad.

‘Molly, wash your hands and change your jeans,’ her mum said.

‘It’s not fox poo. It’s only mud.’

‘I don’t care. You can’t go to Auntie Carol’s in filthy clothes. Go upstairs, get changed and hurry up.’

Sarah snorted.

‘And you, Sarah, can tidy all your junk away and make sure you have your overnight stuff. I don’t want to have to come back because you’ve forgotten your phone or your pyjamas or something.’

‘It is not junk!’ Sarah protested.

‘You know what I mean,’ said her mum, adding an indulgent smile that did nothing to soothe Sarah’s ruffled feathers.

‘My bag has been ready for hours, Mum,’ said Sarah. ‘Unlike Mol, who hasn’t even started packing. And I don’t see why I have to stay at Auntie Carol’s tonight. I’m eighteen. I could stay here on my own and I’d be fine. I could have mates over for the evening or I could have gone with Tilly to Ibiza. It’s Molly who needs the babysitter.’

Molly gasped. ‘No, I do not. You’re the one who’d end up in A&E or a police cell if you were left on her own. I’m the responsible one. Everyone knows I’d have my head in a book the whole time Mum and Dad were away.’

‘More like blow up the whole house and experiment on Roger,’ said Sarah.

‘I love Roger. He’s my hamster too.’

‘This is pointless because I’m not letting either of you stay here on your own,’ said their mother, rubbing at the heel of her shoe with a piece of kitchen paper.

‘I can manage without you and Dad, you know. I’m not a little girl,’ Sarah muttered, knowing she was pushing her luck.

Their mother stuck her hands on her hips. ‘No, but I’m turning into a very old lady waiting here. Get your stuff, both of you, and get into the car!’

Twenty minutes later, Will Havers drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the girls to finally climb into the car. The engine was running as Sarah shoved her overnight case into the boot and Molly climbed in behind their mother, clutching her rucksack to her chest. Sarah shut the car door, fastened her seat belt and stared pointedly out of the window. Maybe, she thought, watching raindrops gently spatter the window, she wouldn’t give Molly the earrings after all.

As they drove the short distance to Auntie Carol’s, their parents turned on Radio Five. Sarah risked a sideways glance at Molly who had her nose stuck in a thick paperback entitled Guns, Germs and Steel.

Sarah shook her head. Guns, Germs and Steel? What was that all about, for God’s sake? Molly was barely fifteen. Why wasn’t she into Sweet Valley High or Twilight like Sarah had been? Her sister really was weird, sometimes. Not the gifted genius everyone said, just a freak.

Unexpectedly, Molly glanced up and their gazes met. Molly’s light blue eyes were innocent and amused. Her light brown hair, which reminded Sarah of runny honey, was secured in a messy ponytail with a pink elastic band. She’d changed into ripped but clean jeans and was still wearing the disgusting spider sweatshirt. Somehow, she still managed to look terrifyingly pretty. In fact, Molly could have worn a sack and still been stunning. Sarah knew that most of the boys in the sixth form, let alone those in Molly’s year, would have given their right arms to date her.

Sarah returned her gaze to the scenery outside the window but the reflection showed Molly’s slim wrists as she turned the page of the book. A bracelet would look beautiful on her, especially if Molly wore the new blue dress she’d chosen for her birthday from Oasis. Maybe Sarah would make her a bracelet to match the earrings … because no matter how annoying and weird Molly could be, Sarah couldn’t help but love her. And no matter how much she longed to leave school and start her jewellery design course, she was secretly dreading the idea of leaving home and being so far away from her family.

Her parents had promised to support her in doing an arty course in Falmouth, so far away from Cambridge. She knew that they were keen to be even-handed with both daughters and they’d let her know that they took her hopes and ambitions as seriously as Molly’s, who was a shoo-in for Oxbridge with her precocious talent for science. She’d make new friends, obviously, but the thought of not having Molly to tease and to guide – Molly needed a lot of guidance – and to share a joke, was scary.

Ever since she could remember, Molly had been a part of her life, like a limb or a vital organ. Her mother had told her that when she first saw Molly in the incubator at the hospital, Sarah had stroked her tiny finger and asked if she would die after a couple of years like their latest hamster. Sarah had apparently cried real tears when her mum had said that Molly was here to stay, as long as Sarah herself – and almost as long as them.

At the traffic lights, Mr Havers twisted round, a grin on his face. ‘Everyone OK? No one feeling sick?’

‘Molly, is it a great idea to read in the back of the car? You know what these roads on the way to Carol’s do to you,’ their mother added.

‘If we weren’t going to Carol’s, Molly wouldn’t feel sick,’ Sarah muttered, her mind still on the impending change in her life.

Molly calmly turned a page. ‘I don’t feel sick.’

‘And are you OK?’ her mother asked Sarah.

Sarah let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘Of course I am, Mum.’

Their mother exchanged a knowing glance with their father. ‘Good. I’m glad everybody’s happy so your father and I can leave you with Auntie Carol and not worry. You will have a lovely time, you know, and Dad and I can enjoy ourselves knowing you’re safe and happy. OK, girls?’

‘Yes, Mum,’ they chorused from the back seat.

‘Great. Now all’s right in the world, we can all relax.’

The girls exchanged their own knowing smiles. There was a roll of the eyes from Sarah and an answering tut from Molly that said far more than words. Their gestures were acknowledgement of a bond that no sisterly spat could break. If she could find one at the bead shop, she might even put a little silver frog on the necklace.

Mol wasn’t all bad and her sharp tongue was very funny. Plus, Auntie Carol was a laugh when she was in a good mood and let the girls have a glass or two of Chardonnay and watch Skins as long as they didn’t tell their parents. And her course in Falmouth would be cool, once she got used to it, and she might meet a surfer and have sex on the beach and start her own boutique jewellery business after uni … and they’d soon be at Auntie Carol’s. She pulled out her new phone and scrolled through her texts. There was a lot to look forward to. An awful lot.

*

Later, much much later, Sarah couldn’t remember if Molly had screamed before Sarah had looked up from her phone or the other way around. Snatches of their journey came back to her, like jumbled-up pieces of a jigsaw that had tumbled onto the carpet. In the days and weeks that followed, Sarah kept finding new pieces at random, trying to put them together in a picture but never having all the bits at one time.

She remembered something about a surfer and a frog and the shops blurring into one another outside the car window. She recalled hearing the traffic report about chaos on the A14, then a roar and a shout from Molly. And then lights: blinding bright lights. Purply white and violet pulses that made her skull ache and her brain throb. In the snatches of consciousness after the accident, she remembered Auntie Carol sitting next to her bed, holding her hand, with mascara running down her face. And she remembered asking where Molly and her parents were but all Auntie Carol would say was: ‘I’m sorry, love. Oh God, I’m sorry.’




CHAPTER ONE (#ucff8f2dd-748b-53af-8320-90e396184d85)


Almost thirteen years later

New Year’s Eve

Department of Behavioural Ecology, Fenland University

Dr Molly Havers slid off her stool and sashayed over to the fridge. She’d gone to town this evening and made a special effort with her outfit. White plastic onesie, safety glasses and sky-blue accessories. Well, it was a special occasion. How could he possibly resist?

She pulled out a small plastic pot and minced across the lab to her boss’s workstation. ‘Here you are, Professor Baxter. One pot of gorilla semen, as you requested.’

Ewan Baxter didn’t so much as lift his eyes from his keyboard. ‘Is it fresh?’ he growled, sounding not unlike a gorilla himself.

‘Of course it’s fresh, I made it myself,’ said Molly, aiming for an ironically sexy purr.

Ewan swivelled round on his stool and peered at her through his safety glasses as if Molly was one of his samples. ‘I hope you’re not developing a throat infection, Dr Havers, because if so, you know the rules. You shouldn’t be in the lab putting your co-workers at risk, not to mention jeopardising this project.’

Molly resisted the urge to throw the semen over Ewan. ‘I don’t have a throat infection.’

Ewan frowned. ‘Are you sure? You look a bit flushed and you sound pretty rough too.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Actually, I was only trying to be sarcastic.’

‘That’s a relief, but I’d appreciate it if you tried not to be so sarcastic in future. You had me worried for a moment.’ His expression was deadpan.

‘In case I was ill?’ asked Molly.

‘No. In case you ruined our work. You know we can’t afford to let any rogue bacteria in here. Can I have the semen, now, please?’

Molly slapped the pot onto his nitrile glove, knowing the gleam of desire in his eyes wasn’t for her, but the pot of gorilla jizz that had been flown in a week ago at vast expense from an animal conservation project in Rwanda. ‘And I promise to try not to be so sarcastic in future,’ she said, even more sarcastically.

Ewan’s eyebrows lifted, the way they did when he’d read a scientific paper he’d been asked to peer-review and was about to rip to shreds. ‘That would be helpful,’ he said. ‘Or I might have to think about getting a research assistant who’s more respectful. Thank you for passing the semen.’

Molly detected a nano-smile before he returned his attention to his work. He was joking about getting a new assistant, of course, because Molly knew he had a sense of humour. Unfortunately, it was often so well hidden you needed an electron microscope to find it. Then again, maybe it was a good thing that Ewan was so dour he made a high court judge look frivolous. It would be excruciating to be working on the “Love Bug” project with a boss who pumped out innuendos to rival a Carry On film.

Molly went back to her own desk and her work on the Love Bug, a name that had stuck after one of the lab technicians had seen an old film on the TV and joked about it to Ewan and Molly. The top-secret project was a revolutionary hormone designed to help humans bond. Theoretically, it could make two individuals fall in love with each other. Theoretically.

Ewan wasn’t amused – as always – about his complex work being reduced to a “sound bite”. Molly thought he was right about one thing: the Love Bug wasn’t accurate because the bonding agent was actually a synthetic hormone, not a “bug” or bacteria and definitely not a “love potion”.

Ewan would have hit the roof if anyone described their precious project in such romantic terms. Well, thought Molly as she looked down her microscope, it had certainly been proven scientifically that Ewan didn’t have a romantic gene in his body. She’d lost count of the times that Sarah had told her Ewan was a lost cause and that there “were plenty more fish in the sea”. Sarah had taken on the role of surrogate mother since their parents had been killed in the accident on the way to Auntie Carol’s, even after Molly had ceased to need parental guidance where men were concerned. However, Molly thought – glancing over at him, oblivious to anything except the semen – maybe she did have a point about Ewan.

She tried to focus on her own samples but then caught sight of the time on the laptop. It was half past six on the party night of the year and what was she doing? Smearing gorilla jizz onto a sliver of glass. That wasn’t normal behaviour by anyone’s standards, not even a dedicated research scientist such as herself.

‘Did you know the solitary confinement cells at Alcatraz were designed to face the mainland so the prisoners could actually hear the sounds of revelry in San Francisco?’ she muttered.

‘Sorry?’ said Ewan, hunched over his microscope.

‘I said I was thinking of ripping off all my clothes and running down the corridor shouting, “I’m a badass babe.”’

‘Mm. Of course.’

‘Ewan?’

He swivelled round again. ‘Yes, Molly?’

His eyes met hers through their safety glasses. Perhaps a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but it disappeared so fast, she must have imagined it and the Baxter lab, of course, was no place for imagination.

‘It’s getting late. Do you mind if I call it a day and get ready for the party?’ Molly said.

He frowned. ‘The party?’

She pulled off her glasses. ‘Yes, Ewan, the party. It’s New Year’s Eve if you hadn’t noticed.’

He took off his own glasses and blinked. Molly’s determination to hate him from now on, melted like butter in a pan. Despite his name, wherever Ewan’s genes had originated from, it wasn’t Scotland or anywhere within a thousand miles. He had dark brown hair, not red or blond, and his eyes were the colour of strong espresso, rather than the blue or green a geneticist would have expected. Somewhere along the way, Ewan’s ancestors had coupled up with a tribe from the Mediterranean – and a pretty hot one at that.

‘Surely, you hadn’t forgotten?’ she asked.

‘No. No, of course I hadn’t.’

‘Are you going? It starts at eight, you know.’

‘Um. I don’t know yet.’

Molly bit back a gasp of exasperation. The party, and the potential for getting pissed, was her one hope of persuading Ewan to let his hair down.

‘Well, it’s up to you, of course, but everyone will be expecting you,’ she said, turning her back on him and unzipping her onesie. ‘Especially after this morning …’

Ewan pulled a face.

‘Well, when you get awarded the MBE in the New Year’s Honours List, people want to celebrate.’

He grimaced again. Ewan might not have a sexual response but he also didn’t have an ego and had refused to accept that he was responsible for the lab’s pioneering work into parent and baby bonding among primates.

‘I suppose I’d better put in an appearance, if only to thank everyone who helped us win the gong. I can always come back to the lab when I’ve shown my face and it will be quiet as everyone will be at the party.’

‘The Love Bug will still be here tomorrow …’ said Molly, in despair.

Ewan clicked his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly. In fact, he was the only man Molly knew who tutted in a non-ironic fashion. ‘Please don’t call it the Love Bug. It trivialises a very important project and it’s also completely inaccurate. You and I know it’s not a bug, it’s a genetically synthesised bonding hormone but if that … descriptor … slipped out to the press, they’d jump on it like a … like a … dog on a bone.’

Molly resisted the urge to snigger. Ewan might be a genius, and gorgeous, but he was shit at similes.

‘You know what will happen, if some clever dick from the papers gets a whiff of our work before we’re ready to announce it publicly, it will end up splashed on the pages of some rag as a “sex bullet” next to a picture of Brian Cox showing his …’

‘Calm down. Our work is under wraps for now and the Love Bug will still be here tomorrow,’ she said, deliberately using the despised descriptor again and dumping her gloves in the waste bin. ‘But the party and your adoring fans won’t.’

‘I do not have adoring fans.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Molly mischievously. ‘What about Mrs Choudhry from admin and that guy from the equipment supplier with the hooked nose who smells like chloroform?’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Really? Well, I’m going and if I don’t see you at the party, I’ll see you next year.’

Molly made a meal of taking off her onesie, in the hope Ewan might change his mind and leave the lab with her but he pulled up his hood again and started tapping away at his laptop.

‘Maybe I can just fit in one more run of tests …’

One day you will be found dead in this lab, Ewan Baxter, and eaten by fruit flies. In fact, it may be that someone – probably me – kills you out of sheer sexual frustration.

‘Up to you,’ said Molly through gritted teeth, ‘but I have to get down to the fancy-dress shop and find a costume before it closes.’

At first she thought he hadn’t heard her but then, slowly and very deliberately, he swivelled round again. There was genuine terror in his eyes and she thought his face had definitely turned a shade paler.

‘Thefancy-dress shop? Why would I need a costume?’

Power surged through Molly’s veins. ‘Didn’t you realise?’ she said, picking up her backpack. ‘It’s a fancy-dress party. The theme is movie heroes and heroines. Good luck with what you can find in the next half hour.’




CHAPTER TWO (#ucff8f2dd-748b-53af-8320-90e396184d85)


Five miles northwest of Molly’s lab, in the village of Fenham, Sarah Havers inched open the drawer of the dressing table in the cottage bedroom. The white test stick still lay on top of her frilly red thong – the same one that had got her into trouble in the first place.

The face of her partner appeared in the mirror behind her. ‘Is that feckin’ fireworks going off already?’ he said, fastening the top button of his uniform shirt.

Sarah nudged the drawer shut. ‘It’s only six o’clock – surely they aren’t setting them off this early?’ Her heart thudded. She hadn’t heard Niall come out of the en suite.

‘Believe me, it’s never too early to set fire to your dad’s shed or blow your fingers off.’

‘Eww. Spare me the image, Mr McCafferty.’

Niall ran his fingers through his quiff. Sarah thought he’d overdone the gel for work, but Niall’s “thing” about his hair was a small price to pay for living with a real-life hero, not that she’d ever tell him that of course. ‘Hey, I’ll be delighted if all we get tonight is a few lost fingers and some burns,’ he said, teasing his hair into an impressive ski slope. ‘It’s more likely that we’ll have someone die of alcohol poisoning or a juicy stabbing but as long as it’s not me, I can cope.’

Sarah twisted the stool around to face him. ‘I wish you didn’t have to work on New Year’s Eve. You’ve already done the Christmas Day shift.’

Niall frowned as he dabbed at a tiny shaving cut on his chin. ‘Most of the other crew have kids. It doesn’t seem right not to give them time with their families and you know we need all the overtime I can get these days.’

‘I’ll still miss you like mad. It means the world to me that you’ve been behind me giving up my job to start the business, especially a tiara-making business.’

‘You won’t miss me. You’ll have a fantastic time with Molly at the scientists’ ball.’

Sarah laughed. ‘I’m not sure what it’ll be like with eighty geeks bopping away.’

Niall flicked one of the crystals on her tiara and they shimmered in the lamplight. ‘And I’m sure you’ll liven it up, darlin’, though I’m not happy about letting my sexy fairy out of my sight.’

‘Actually, I’m a princess. The party theme is “movie heroes and heroines” and I decided that Anastasia counts as a heroine. Some people say she survived when the rest of the Russian royal family were murdered.’

‘You can be a sexy princess, then, I don’t really mind.’

She traced a nail down the open V of his shirt, enjoying the softness of his chest hair under her fingertip. ‘And I love a sexy paramedic.’

‘Now, now, it wouldn’t do for Cambridgeshire County ambulance service to send a staff member out with a massive hard-on, would it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It would add a little frisson for the patients.’

‘Not with the kind of patients I’m likely to encounter on New Year’s Eve. You’ll get me into trouble … Now, I really have to go. Be careful out there and enjoy yourself. What time do you want picking up from Molly’s place tomorrow morning?’

‘Oh, erm … whenever you like.’ Sarah felt guilty about lying but she didn’t want to drop a momentous bombshell on him just before he headed out on his shift. New Year’s Eve was his busiest night of the year and he’d need every ounce of concentration as he hurtled along the roads of Cambridgeshire on his way to a shout. OK, she might be paranoid and sound like an old fogey, but surely anyone would be after what happened to her and Molly’s parents? You never lost the anxiety after a tragedy like that: part of you always knew that the worst could happen no matter how unlikely.

‘I know you worry but we’re trained professionals, remember? And if anything does happen, well, at least we’d have the paramedics on site.’

‘Don’t joke, Ni!’ said Sarah, then softened her tone. She was being silly and she knew Niall’s black humour was designed to jolly her out of her fears about him hurtling round the roads at top speed. The banter was the only way he and his colleagues could deal with their jobs most of the time.

He kissed her again. ‘Sorry, babe … bad taste but honestly, my love, nothing is going to happen to me tonight, I promise you. I’ll text you if I can but it’s going to be a manic night. I’ll be back around four a.m. but it could be lunchtime before I surface properly.’

‘I suppose I can hang on until then to give you your New Year’s present,’ she said, growing excited again at the prospect of sharing her news and focusing on new life, not the past.

‘My present?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I can’t wait.’

Sarah was still staring at her reflection when the front door shut and she heard Niall whistling “Happy” by Pharrell Williams on the drive. Only after she heard the engine of his motorbike dying in the distance, and when the pop and fizzle of the fireworks sounded loud against the newly silent house, did she dare to open the drawer again.

She picked up the test stick and butterflies stirred in her stomach. Would Niall actually like his present? Getting pregnant now was hardly ideal timing. She’d given up her job to start her new business only a few months before and on top of the mortgage on the cottage, and the bills, they had to find the payments on Niall’s new motorbike.

She spread her palm over her stomach. It felt exactly the same as it had for the past year. Not flat, of course – she hadn’t had a flat tummy since she was about ten – but it certainly wasn’t any rounder. She didn’t feel sick, either, unless you counted the butterflies of excitement and apprehension that had been fluttering away for the past half hour. Her body gave no clue whatsoever that it had another person inside it yet someone was there right now, its heart beating because hers did, breathing when she did, and relying on her for its survival.

Niall loved kids and he adored his huge extended family. Sarah would never forget the first time he’d introduced her to them two years before. It had been at a party for his Nana McCafferty’s ninetieth birthday and a bit like being thrown into a pit of friendly lions and their cubs. And now she and Niall were starting their own tiny clan.

Emotion bubbled up in her throat. She picked up her mobile and dialled the second most used number on her phone.

‘Hello, this is Molly, I can’t get to the phone right now …’

Damn. Was Molly still at work at this time of night? It was New Year’s Eve – but then, her little sister had always been the biggest geek on the planet, next to her workaholic boss, of course. To be fair, Molly’s latest crush on Ewan Baxter had lasted well over a year now – far longer than any of the others. Sarah wasn’t terribly hopeful; Ewan had failed to respond to any of Molly’s hints so far. Sarah thought he was mad; Molly was gorgeous and fun and bright – when she wasn’t infuriating and impulsive, of course.

‘Hi, Molly, it’s me,’ Sarah spoke into the answerphone. ‘Are you still at work? If you are, don’t let Professor McDreamy make you miss the party. I’m still coming but I can’t stay over at yours after all so I’ll drive us home and before you ask, I don’t mind staying sober and no, I’m not ill …’

Even hinting about the baby to Molly made Sarah want to laugh out loud and burst into tears at the same time. What would she be like when she told Niall? She imagined breaking her news in front of the embers of the cottage’s log fire. She imagined his gasp of amazement and his gobsmacked face. She wanted to hold the moment forever in her mind.

‘I’ll tell you more when I see you,’ she said when it was obvious Molly wasn’t going to pick up. ‘Now, get the hell out of that lab and put your glad rags on.’




CHAPTER THREE (#ucff8f2dd-748b-53af-8320-90e396184d85)


Brushing past a Wookiee who smelled of mould and a rugby player dressed as Hermione Granger, Molly hurried away from the bar with a pint of cider for herself and a Coke for Sarah. It was slightly surreal to see the Biology Faculty staff restaurant decked out in streamers with a large glitter ball suspended from the ceiling above the salad servery. The faculty Entz Committee had obviously spent ages on the superhero-themed decorations, trying to cover the yellowing walls with posters of Marvel heroes but Molly still thought the place looked like exactly like a 1960s canteen. And a Wookiee wasn’t exactly a typical movie hero.

Then again, quite a few people were pushing the boundaries of what qualified as a hero or heroine. Take Pete Garrick, the parasitic worm expert from the next lab to Molly’s, who was also acting as DJ for the evening, fiddling with the knobs on the decks. He was wearing what looked like an Iron Man T-shirt with fake muscles stencilled on the front. He cut the Mid and the vocals dropped out, so you could hear everyone screaming along to “Livin’ on a Prayer”.

Wincing, Molly put the Coke on the table that she and Sarah had bagged in a relatively quiet corner. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind driving tonight?’ she said, leaning in closer so Sarah could hear above the “music”. ‘You can still stay over at mine if you want and we can get a taxi home, if I book one now.’

‘I don’t mind driving,’ said Sarah. ‘Anyway, I want to go home afterwards and give Niall my news.’

‘Ooo. News! Does this news have anything to do with the “tell you more when I see you” message?’

‘Might have.’ Sarah sipped her Coke and her eyes twinkled, reflecting the lights from the disco.

‘Oh my God, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?’

Sarah gasped. ‘Is it that obvious already? I’m only seven weeks at the most.’

Molly grinned in delight. ‘No, but you said you had a secret to tell Niall and you’re obviously desperate to stay sober on the party night of the year. I don’t have to be a rocket scientist, or even a behavioural ecologist to work out what it is.’

Sarah nodded excitedly. ‘Oh, Mol, I know Niall ought to be the first to know but I only found out for sure tonight and he was just about to go out on shift. I didn’t want him driving round the streets of Cambridge at sixty miles an hour with that on his mind.’

Molly hugged her. ‘I’m so happy for you, and for Niall. I know you’re going to make an amazing mum and dad. You deserve it so much.’ She meant every word; she could never wish enough good things to happen to Sarah, after what she’d done for Molly. After their parents had died, it was Sarah who’d kept her on the rails and made sure she went to uni. Sarah who’d encouraged her and supported her through some of the darkest days of her life; of both their lives.

‘We were both there for each other,’ said Sarah but then her smile faded. ‘But it’s not the best timing, with me just starting up the business. Niall only took tonight’s shift for the overtime. I hope he’s not too shocked.’

‘Only in a good way, I’m sure. You two are the most loved-up pair I’ve ever seen. You were made for each other.’

‘“Made for each other” … and you know that’s possible, do you, Dr Havers?’

‘Shh. You really will get me into trouble.’ Molly tapped the side of her nose. ‘And I …’ The words stuck in her throat as she caught sight of what Mrs Choudhry would call a “kerfuffle” happening by the double doors leading into the canteen.

‘On my God, it’s Ewan and he’s wearing a sodding kilt. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?’

Molly sat open-mouthed as Sarah followed her gaze. ‘I don’t know. Ask him what he’s wearing under it?’

‘Arghh. Don’t. It doesn’t even bear thinking about.’

‘And yet, you often have.’

‘Please, no, I think I’m going to self-combust.’

Sarah’s eyes had a glint to rival the rhinestones on her “Princess Anastasia” tiara. ‘I thought you told me spontaneous combustion was an urban myth and that only people on Jeremy Kyle believe it actually happens?’

‘It is – I mean, I thought it was a myth but I think that tonight might be the first documented case. I mean, look at him.’

What Molly really meant was for Sarah to wait patiently while she stared at Professor Ewan Baxter for the umpteenth time that evening. Her earlier annoyance at his rudeness/ignoring her in the lab had disappeared in a haze of wine/kilt-induced amnesia. The kilt showed off legs that Molly had only ever seen clad in denim, or occasionally, a pair of suit trousers if Ewan had to visit someone important. His calves were firm and well developed with exactly the optimum amount of soft, dark hair.

‘OK. I admit, he’s very sexy for a biochemistry academic, although that’s not saying much when you look at the competition,’ said Sarah, giving the room a withering appraisal.

‘You do know these are some of the finest scientific minds on the planet? Some of these people are going to save the world one day.’

‘God help the world,’ said Sarah. ‘More wine?’

Half an hour later, whoops and screeches cut through the disco beat. Ewan had joined a group of people at the bar. Molly wasn’t the only one in the faculty who had a crush on Ewan. In fact, there was so much drool – of the real and intellectual variety – she could have gathered a lab full of samples. She watched his guns as he lifted the pint; his mouth tilting upwards at the corners as he laughed with his PhD students, the slight stiffening of his body when one of the younger female professors touched him “playfully” on the arm. The academic was brilliant, single and gorgeous but Ewan seemed oblivious even to her.

‘It must be heartbreaking to be in love with your tutor,’ Sarah teased.

‘Firstly, he isn’t my tutor, he’s my boss. Secondly, I’m not his student, I’m a research associate; and thirdly, I’m not in love.’

‘Mum used to sing that song when she was ironing,’ said Sarah.

‘Did she? I don’t remember,’ said Molly, trying to picture their mother holding up her school blouse and asking her if she’d been using it to help their dad clean the car again. She knew the event had happened, but she could no longer see their faces distinctly in her mind. Her memories were fading after thirteen years. She wondered if Sarah had the same problem but had never dared to ask her and certainly wasn’t going to tonight.

‘Mum said “I’m Not in Love” was the ultimate song about being in denial,’ said Sarah.

‘But I’m definitely not in love with Ewan,’ said Molly, wishing Sarah hadn’t referred to their mother so casually. Oh God, her parents would have been grandparents. Molly gulped down her wine, desperately trying not to cry. Sarah did not need that kind of reminder tonight. She tried to drown the reminder of her loss with another large glug of wine. It had struck suddenly, as if she’d sat on a sharp thorn that was working its way into her flesh again. It seemed cruel that the pain took longer to fade than her memories.

‘Romantic love is just the brain pumping out a cocktail of chemicals: pheromones, dopamine, serotonin … plus a few others,’ she said, babbling away to try and erase the memories.

‘Okayyy …’ Sarah’s eyes were glazing over; and Molly couldn’t put it down to the booze because Sarah was stone-cold sober. Molly had always driven her sister mad with her obsession with science, zoology and anthropology. Any ology in fact. Sarah, in contrast, had ended up joining a bank’s training scheme straight after her A levels so she could stay at home and look after Molly, rather than going to university to study jewellery design. Molly owed her sister a lot and she was delighted that Sarah had finally been able to leave her job and fulfil her dream, with Niall’s help and support.

‘I’m not denying I’m in lust,’ Molly said.

‘Is it so different?’

‘Totally. Love requires mutual dependence while lust is a transitory condition, involving an overload of oestrogen and testosterone.’

‘And?’

Molly grinned. ‘I’m completely powerless to do anything about my hormones.’

‘Have you actually let him know what he does to your levels of oestrogen yet?’

Molly snorted. ‘Of course not! He’d run a mile!’

‘Why?’

‘Because … because … he’s a workaholic who lives for his research. A relationship would only distract him from that purpose. Sometimes, he actually sleeps in the lab.’

Sarah laughed. ‘I thought you said there were lots of geeks who slept in the lab.’

‘Yes, but Ewan has a sleeping bag and a packet of Coco Pops in his filing cabinet.’

‘I thought even you’d spent all night in there sometimes.’

‘Occasionally, yes, when I’ve got an experiment running and I can’t let the samples die. It would ruin the project and it is important.’

‘Ah, the Love Bug project.’

Molly put her finger on her lips. ‘Shh … You can’t get infected by it, it’s a hormone and it has to be specially tailored to your DNA and delivered in a very specific way. I could get the sack for telling you about it but it isn’t a “bug”. Look, can we talk about something else? Please?’

‘Like Ewan?’

Molly nodded, relieved and happier than was probably healthy. Or normal. Or smart. Sarah was right, she was probably a tiny bit obsessed, or worse, maybe she was a teeny bit in love with him.

‘Look, he is single right? And straight from what you’ve told me?’

‘Divorced. His wife lives with a barrister in Dulwich according to one of the lab assistants. His workaholism was why they split up. Apparently.’

‘Single, then, with a bit of baggage, but you can work through that. Also, straight, in that case, unless that’s why he split up with her?’

‘Oh, he’s straight.’ Molly surprised herself with her own vehemence. She did know Ewan was straight, even though all the recent evidence was against it. ‘Though it’s feasible that he could be asexual, I suppose …’

Sarah laughed. ‘I doubt it. Look, it’s New Year’s Eve and even though I hate to swell your ego, you’re the most gorgeous girl in the room. Why don’t you just go and ask Professor McDreamy if he wants to dance?’

‘Dance? Are you mad?’

‘Only as crazy as you are if you don’t take your chance while he a: doesn’t have his face glued to a microscope and b: is probably a bit pissed. Go on, ask him. Otherwise, shut up and come and dance with me. It’s New Year’s Eve and as you know, I don’t get out much so I’m bloody well going to make the most of tonight.’

‘Oh God, Sarah, I’m a selfish bitch, going on about Ewan. What a shame Niall couldn’t make the party. It must be shit having to work on New Year’s Eve but Niall’s a hero, and hunky; he loves you to bits. I could hate you, if I didn’t love you to bits as well, hon. I really envy you though.’

‘Gorgeous brilliant “gonna save the world” Dr Molly envies her sister?’

‘I’m not gorgeous – especially not dressed like an extra from Television X – and I doubt I’ll ever save the world but you know what I mean. You have a lovely bloke who’s crazy about you and would do anything for you.’

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without him; he’s stuck with me through thick and thin, mostly thin for the past year.’

‘You don’t regret leaving the bank to start up the business, do you? You’re so creative. It was time you did something for yourself. By the way, I love the outfit.’

Sarah touched her tiara. ‘I hoped it met the definition of movie hero. I thought coming as Princess Anastasiamight be a bit fluffy for thisevent but then I thought, it might attract some customers.’

Eight assorted biologists were throwing shapes on the dance floor.

‘Even geeks fall in love and get married. Eventually,’ Sarah said, watching them.

Molly wasn’t convinced.

‘But I don’t think they go in for tiaras much. Another?’ said Sarah, pointing to Molly’s empty glass.

‘I think I’d better if I’m going to ask Ewan to dance.’

A few hours later, Molly fished a party popper out of her glass and finished up a large vodka while Sarah went outside to phone Niall during his break. Molly could tell her sister was anxious about him and she didn’t really blame her; Sarah must be desperate to tell Niall about the baby. Sarah looked tired too, and Molly wasn’t pissed enough to ignore the fact that her sister and niece/nephew-to-be really ought to be in bed.

It was well past midnight and there were just a few party people jigging around on the dance floor. She tried to spot Ewan at the bar. The shutters were already down on one side of it and only a couple of people queuing at the other. Ewan had probably gone home; or more likely, back to the lab. The party was over, and so was her opportunity.

Just when she’d given up all hope and was shouldering her handbag ready to join Sarah outside and leave, she swivelled round.

Ewan was right next to her. He looked down at her with a sheepish expression, rubbed his chin and said: ‘So, Dr Havers, would you like to dance?’




CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_34bd135b-d898-59dc-90fa-bdb0e86bce01)


‘Ewan. I didn’t notice you creep up on me.’

‘Creep up on you? Is it that bad?’ He folded his arms. A knot of lust twisted low in Molly’s stomach. She stared at him as he swam in and out of focus.

‘No, of course not but, did you just ask if I’d dance with you?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded in the direction of the space between the serving counters that served as a dance floor. ‘That thing where two – or more – people try to move their bodies in time with music. Which in this case, I’m afraid, is George Michael.’

Ewan’s face changed from orange to green to red and back to orange as the disco lights pulsed. He was a human traffic light.

‘But … are you sure?’

‘Do you mean am I statistically certain that I want to dance or merely sure in a slightly pissed, relatively normal kind of bloke sense?’

Molly giggled and then regretted it. Ewan never giggled, he was allergic to the concept and so was she under normal circumstances but these weren’t normal circumstances; they were slightly drunken circumstances. She stood up and almost had to hold on to the table for support. Make that very drunken circumstances because it could only be alcohol making her legs this wobbly.

‘Oh, go on, then.’

She tugged her nurse’s hem down, which had the effect of also lowering the neckline to pornographic level, just as Ewan moved closer to her.

‘It was all they had left in the shop, apart from a comedy Boris Johnson outfit,’ she said, feeling the need to explain, as the dress pinged up her thighs again.

His eyebrows shot up his face. ‘Interesting choice and um … call me a bit dim but what movie hero are you meant to be?’

‘Um. Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?’

Ewan winced. ‘Great film. Terrible nurse.’

‘Kate Beckinsale from Pearl Harbor, then?’

Ewan tutted. ‘Terrible film. Very sexy nurse.’

Molly’s face heated up like someone had taken a Bunsen burner to it. ‘You’re William Wallace from Braveheart, of course.’

‘Well … not really. I borrowed this from my brother. He stayed over Christmas and said I could borrow it. He’s Scottish, you see.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘Technically, yes. I was born in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary but our parents moved down here when I was six weeks old.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Why? Do you have a problem with me being Scottish?’

Molly smiled, suddenly floating on a cushion of air. ‘Not if you don’t, Professor Baxter.’

‘I’m glad to hear it Nurse Beckinsale. So – shall we before they put on something even worse than George?’

He didn’t take her hand and lead her to the dance floor, as George had in “Careless Whisper”, and the soles of her stilettos stuck to the tiles as she followed him. Silly string trailed from his backside and there was also a strand stuck to his calf, curling through the dark hair and over the contours of his muscles.

Molly shuffled closer, not knowing what she should do with her hands, but Ewan seemed to have at least a rough idea and there they were, pressing his around her waist, not too lightly but not too firm either. Perfect, in fact, the way she’d always imagined them. Her fingers rested on his back, beneath his shoulder blades. The laces of his Highland shirt were loose, revealing the hairs sprinkled across his broad chest. Ewan’s fingers brushed her cheek, and Molly’s hormones pinged so loudly she thought everyone must hear. Not that hormones could make any kind of noise, obviously, but if they did a ping would be appropriate …

She homed in on a hot pink strand dangling in front of her nose and the fingers that lifted it out of her line of vision.

‘You have silly string in your hair,’ said Ewan.

‘Thanks for letting me know. You … um … have some on your bum … I mean, the back of your kilt.’

He twisted round. ‘Oh God. Do I?’

‘’Fraid so. It gets everywhere, doesn’t it?’ she said, instantly regretting her words in case he thought she was referring to something under his kilt.

‘Apparently so.’

Molly glanced down at the party popper nestled between her cleavage. What else was she going to find on her person?

‘Shall I um … help you retrieve that? I’ll be careful,’ said Ewan, as if the popper was a seal pup that needed rescuing.

‘Oh, go on then.’

His fingers fumbled inside her plunge bra, fished out the popper and dropped it on the floor. Goose bumps popped out all over her skin. Just another totally normal reaction to external stimuli, thought Molly, nothing to do with Ewan per se …

‘Mol, I really think I may be a bit pissed …’ he whispered into her hair.

‘I know I’m a lot pissed.’

‘Then by the laws of the universe,’ he murmured as George warbled on, ‘we must cancel each other out so that’s acceptable.’

Ewan was smiling happily, in the way she’d occasionally seen him do before. Like when one of the retiring admin ladies had given him a fruit cake for his birthday because he “needed feeding up”. Was that how he saw her? Kind and hardworking but harmless? No way. The way he’d retrieved that party popper had nothing to do with pity, she decided as they swayed in time and George crooned about getting away from the crowd. The hem of Ewan’s kilt tickled Molly’s knees and as his hands slipped lower to her bottom and he pressed against her, Molly realised he wasn’t that pissed and that he obviously didn’t think she was harmless.

There was hope, more hope than there had ever been, that this year would be a new start for her. Maybe a new start for Sarah too … They both deserved it and at this moment, in the first hour of the New Year, anything and everything was possible.

Ewan pulled her a little tighter and Molly made no attempt to resist. She rested her cheek on his highland shirt, and the laces tickled her nose. George started wailing about giving his heart to someone nameless and non-gender-specific. Molly knew how George felt. Ewan was now in possession of her heart too, in the metaphorical sense, of course, but it was also trying to escape from her chest.

His arms tightened around her back.

She took her chance. ‘You know, Ewan, when I first joined the lab, I thought you were a bit – you know stiff?’

He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Stiff?’

‘Whoops.’ Molly laughed, although actually, what she’d just said was probably anatomically accurate. ‘I meant uptight.’

Ewan frowned down at her. ‘Uptight? Me? Never.’

‘What did you think of me then?’

‘You? That you were probably one of the most promising young research associates who’d applied for the job.’

‘Oh,’ said Molly.

‘And that some genetic quirk had given you the most kissable mouth I’d ever seen.’

‘Ah.’ Just as George was moaning that his cold-hearted ex didn’t recognise him, Ewan lowered his face to hers and went for a full-on snog. His eyes were closed so she did the same. His stubbly chin rasped against her skin, his lips tasted of Greene King’s finest. The synthesised bells of the song sounded like fireworks and a full-on symphony orchestra.

She wasn’t sure who broke the kiss but when it ended, she whispered softly in his ear. ‘Wow.’

‘Ditto.’

‘I never expected that.’

‘Nor me.’ He sounded throaty and she was sure it wasn’t the start of a bacterial infection.

‘You know, Professor Baxter, there’s something I’ve been dying to ask you all evening.’

‘And?’

‘Just what have you got on under the kilt?’

Ewan whispered in her ear. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out. What have you got on under the nurse’s outfit?’

‘Ditto,’ said Molly, feeling like she could take off and fly out of the canteen if Ewan wasn’t kissing her again, anchoring to him while their tongues danced a reel in each other’s mouths. Not even the tinny bells at the end of George’s song could spoil the moment. Happy New Year to me, thought Molly with a blissful sigh, as Ewan’s hands rested contentedly on her bottom.

‘And-dd, sadly that is all, folks. Happy New Year, have a safe journey home and gooooood-nighty.’

Molly opened her eyes and blinked as the DJ cut the music. The fluorescent lights were on and from the edge of the room there was a round of applause and some ear-splitting whistles.

‘Always said you’d benefit from medical attention, mate!’

Gleeful hoots and a couple of “phwoarrs” echoed across the canteen. Molly’s face heated up and she rolled her eyes. ‘What are they like, eh?’

‘Quite.’

Molly wanted to kill Ewan’s rugby mates and a few of her colleagues but decided to laugh off their banter. She could handle a few pissed geeks, and anyway, she was about to get her hands on the biggest prize of all. An image flashed through her mind that made her stomach clench with lust so tightly it hurt. Ewan’s shirt and kilt cast aside on her bedroom floor, along with his uptight façade. Ewan, stark naked, standing by her bed shouting ‘Freedommmm!’ She giggled and rested her hand on his kilt, loving the feel of scratchy wool under her fingers.

Catcalls rang out from the side of the room. Sod them. Sod them all. Let the boozy gang say all they liked. With one hand still on his arse, she reached up and touched his hair. ‘Did you know that you now have silly string in your hair?’ she said, shaking with lust.

‘Do I? Oh, fuck.’ Ewan dropped his hands from her waist and reached up to pull out the strand himself. He rolled it between his fingers and lowered his voice. ‘I think the party’s over, Molly.’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t have to end here, does it?’

‘Erm. Well it is late.’

‘Not that late. It’s not even one o’clock yet.’

He frowned. ‘Well, that is still quite late.’

‘But not very late. The night’s young.’

Ewan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He did look tired, he’d been working very hard and they’d both had a lot to drink but surely, he wasn’t too tired for that.

‘Thanks for retrieving my party popper,’ she said, going for humour and hoping to refocus his mind on the task in hand.

‘Yes, I … um hope you won’t hold it against me. I mean, it is New Year’s Eve.’ He looked sheepish, and sexy. Sheepishly sexy. The perfect combination. Wow. How great was it going to feel when she finally unwrapped that uptight, stiff exterior …?

‘I had noticed. Tends to happen on December thirty-first every year,’ said Molly, plucking a stray piece of string off his shoulder. ‘And I won’t hold anything against you that you don’t want me to.’

‘Hey. Are you gonna pop your stirring rod into Molly’s beaker, Ewan?’

‘Ewan! The minibus is here, mate, but I guess you’ve found a better ride?’

‘Oy, Boss. Molly looks so hot in that nurse costume, she’ll denature your proteins!’

The shouts from the sidelines grew louder. Molly wanted to strangle them with silly string.

‘I’d call them Neanderthals, but we both know that would be an insult to Neanderthals.’ She forced a smile to her face while wishing she could vaporise their lairy co-workers.

‘You can say that again,’ he muttered.

‘Phwoar, I sense some DNA sampling is going to happen in the Baxter lab tonight!’

Ewan grimaced – not in a good way. Suddenly, he looked like someone had stuck a ruler up his bottom. ‘Molly, I’m sorry …’

‘That’s OK. I guess we can both handle them.’

‘No, I meant … I’m really sorry but I don’t think this is such a good idea. I guess I’d better go. I was offered a lift in the minibus and I think I should be on it. Team bonding eh? You know I have to be in the lab first thing tomorrow.’

What? He was bailing out? Just because of a few crass comments from a bunch of drunken knobheads?

‘You are joking?’ Molly refused to let him off the hook.

‘No. I mean, I have the press to deal with – they want interviews about the … er … MBE thing. Look, do you have a lift home? I can call you a cab if you like?’

A chilly wave of nausea washed over her, mixed with growing anger. Had he got cold feet because of a bit of banter from a bunch of drunken nerds? ‘I’m fine,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m getting a lift with my sister.’

‘Good. Um. Well, thank you for the dance … I um, think you’d better let go of me now.’

Molly snatched her hands from his bum as if it was a red-hot potato.

Ewan reddened. ‘Goodnight. Um, see you tomorrow?’

She simmered with shame and anger. ‘Actually, Ewan, no, you won’t because tomorrow – technically today – is New Year’s Day and I’m going to spend it throwing up, enjoying a splitting headache and crying at Ghost like normal people, so Happy New Year and congratulations, Boss.’

Ewan’s lips parted, closed, then he threw her one last guilty glance and walked off the dance floor, trailing silly string.

She closed her eyes but she couldn’t shut her ears to the cries of ‘What? Changed your mind, mate?’

When she opened her eyes, Ewan and his stupid sodding kilt and brain-dead groupies were gone. At least, she told herself, she could get the walk of shame over with now, rather than in the morning. But if she had gone home with Ewan, her walk of shame would at least have been from his bed – or hers – to the bathroom, not across the canteen, in the full glare of the remaining staff who’d all seen her get blown off by their boss. She glanced at her shoes, covered in sticky string and shiny confetti and at the ladder in her black seamed stockings and the six-inch tear in the hem of the nurse’s outfit.

Well, Happy Sodding New Year to her.

Sarah met her at the edge of the dance floor, holding Molly’s coat. ‘Oh God, please tell me that wasn’t what it looked like.’

‘I’m afraid it was. I should have known it was all too good to be true! Ewan Baxter is only interested in one thing and that’s the bottom of a bloody petri dish!’

Sarah draped her coat around her shoulders and squeezed them slightly. ‘Come on, hon, the sooner we get out of here the better.’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ said Molly, as a fresh wave of nausea swept over her. Once outside, the raw cold of a Cambridge winter night took her breath away. The wind gusted up her skirt and sleet blew in their faces as they walked across the faculty car park, Molly’s heels sliding dangerously in the wet slush.

Sarah put her arm around her. ‘It’s for the best you know. Sleeping with your boss is never a great idea. He’s obviously a sociopath. Wouldn’t you rather it had ended now before you woke up in his flat and had to do the walk of shame?’

Molly thought of Ewan, naked except for the kilt, frying bacon at her cooker.

‘No.’

‘OK. Well, it could have been worse. I suppose. If I hadn’t waited to make sure whether you’d pulled Ewan, you might have been going home on the minibus with a bunch of pissed geeks.’

Molly bit her lip and told herself to lighten up. Sarah didn’t need her moaning on a night when she’d had such good news to share. ‘Yeah … thanks, Sarah. I’m sorry if I’ve spent half the evening mooning over Ewan bloody Baxter but it won’t happen again. I’ve learned my lesson … Did you get hold of Niall by the way? I bet you can’t wait to share your news.’ She forced a smile to her face, reminding herself that she was going to be an auntie and how amazing that would be.

Sarah grimaced. ‘No. His phone was off but it is his busiest night of the year and he probably didn’t take a break at all. I just wanted to know he’s OK, with all the drunks – the extra drunks – around tonight. Since one of his colleagues was stabbed in that pub on Christmas Eve, I guess I’m paranoid.’

‘No, you’re just worried but he’ll be OK. Niall knows how to handle himself.’

‘Yeah, you’re right and you never know, when he’s sobered up, Ewan might realise what he’s just missed. He could be on the phone to you in the morning.’

‘Yeah, and I’ve probably won the Nobel Prize.’

Sarah flicked the remote at the car and the sidelights winked. ‘It’s not as if that was your only chance. You’ll be back at work soon and you can be together every day of your life.’

As she was about to climb into Sarah’s Fiesta, an icy blast blew straight down Molly’s cleavage. ‘It’s the scar, isn’t it? It’s the elephant in the room.’

‘Molly,’ Sarah said wearily, the way that Molly remembered their mother doing. ‘You have a teeny tiny scar that is barely noticeable and with the amount of booze Ewan has got down his neck tonight, I doubt he can even find his own balls let alone notice a scar on your face. He’s a tosser who doesn’t deserve another minute’s thought. Now, let’s get you home and into bed.’

‘I know. I know. I wish Ewan could be like Niall.’

‘Ni’s not perfect, not by a long shot.’ Sarah smiled.

‘But he is about to be a daddy.’ Molly reached over and hugged Sarah, desperately trying to fight back the post-party, post-Ewan tears. ‘Phone me in the morning. I’m dying to hear what he says.’




CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_ae7016e5-d1dd-5f61-b3e1-b2c9ebc7407e)


After dropping off Molly at her flat, Sarah drove out of the city towards Fenham. It was bitterly cold, a typical Fenland night. Frost glittered like a trillion rhinestones on the pavements and as her headlights swept over the roadside, the fields glowed blue-white under the moon.

As she negotiated the icy roads, Sarah thought the fens had never looked more beautiful but she also felt guilty for feeling so happy when Molly was so miserable. They’d been like two balloons on the way home: Sarah about to go pop with excitement and Molly shrivelled up with misery and the start of a killer hangover.

Despite how long it had lasted, Sarah hadn’t really taken Molly’s crush on Ewan Baxter too seriously until that evening. Molly had had a lot of crushes over the years, usually short-lived and never very heavy. She’d ignored all the boys at school but had a few flings while she was at university, including one with an English Literature student and another with the captain of the university cricket team. Then there’d been the Australian who’d lasted a year on and off while Molly was studying for her PhD.

Sarah had thought he’d be The One for Molly and they’d shared a house together for a while but he’d gone back to Sydney. Molly had cried for a week but then thrown herself back into her research, landing a post-doc place in the prestigious Baxter lab.

Since then, there had been nothing very serious, although Molly had plenty of offers, Ewan Baxter seemed to have totally captured her imagination and heart. Sarah blew out a breath of frustration as she turned into the road that led through Fenham. She wanted to shake Ewan Baxter and tell him what a total prat he was for upsetting her sister.

She just hoped that Molly would get over her disappointment quickly and realise what an idiot he was and refocus her attention on someone deserving. There was nothing she could do about the situation and besides, Sarah couldn’t be too unhappy for long, not tonight.

She remembered Niall’s final words as he’d called up the stairs. ‘Drive carefully, there’s bound to be all kinds of drunks and dickheads on the roads.’ She didn’t need him to remind her of that, after what had happened to her parents and, besides, she was far more worried about him than herself. She also remembered the sharp tang of his aftershave and the fresh clean smell of his uniform. He always showered before he went out and the moment he got back. No wonder – after New Year’s Eve, he’d probably seen, touched, heard and smelled more bodily fluids than she cared to imagine.

Poor bloke; what a shitty job, literally, he had.

She was glad – and slightly guilty – that her own job couldn’t have been more different. She ran her jewellery-making business from a small cabin at the end of the garden. She and Niall had built it together and while it was modest, it was exactly right for her. When she wasn’t making up commissions for weddings, she ran workshops there where brides and teenagers going to proms could make tiaras and headdresses, and jewellery.

It had been a big risk to give up her safe but boring job at the bank and finally realise her cherished dream to start her own business, but Molly had been spot on. After so many years of acting as surrogate mother as well as big sister to Molly, Sarah had been ready to take a risk. So what if they hadn’t planned things this way, working for herself would fit in better with starting a family.

She parked on the pavement outside and pushed open the little wicket gate in the hedge. The path was icy and she almost slipped on one of the flagstones, which brought a smile to her face. ‘Don’t go arse over tit tonight; I don’t want to be called out to save my gorgeous girlfriend – I may be a bit busy,’ Niall had joked as he’d kissed her goodbye.

The lamp was on in the sitting room, exactly as she’d left it, knowing she’d be back before Niall. She wondered whether to watch a late-night film on TV and curl up on the sofa to wait for him. She certainly didn’t feel sleepy, not after a night on Coke and mineral water, and Niall would be home in a few hours.

She felt a twinge of guilt as she pushed her key in the front door, picturing Molly in bed alone, then told herself that with any luck Mol would be out cold after all the wine. Sarah would call her in the morning and maybe pop round later for a New Year’s Day coffee, with Niall. They could celebrate their news together properly. Molly was going to be an auntie. Comforted by this thought, Sarah pushed open the door and stepped into the hall.

Light spilled down the stairs from the landing. Sarah stopped and the hairs on her arms stood on end. She was sure she hadn’t left the light on. Or had she? She’d gone out in a rush and her mind had hardly been on such things.

She put her bag down on the hall table.

‘Arghhh …’

Sarah froze. Her stomach clenched sharply. The floorboards creaked above her and there was a soft thud and another groan.

‘Oooo … ahhhh …’

There was someone upstairs.

She held her breath. Only in TV thrillers did women walk upstairs to confront a burglar. Sarah was not in a TV thriller; she was much more scared than that. Her hands were clammy as she twisted the Yale knob and backed out of the door.

It was as she ran down the step to the garden that two things happened at once. She realised she’d left her handbag, and therefore her phone inside the hall, and she heard a man say, ‘Oh fuck, it’s Sarah.’

Sarah stood on the flagstones, staring at the open door of the cottage. Surely, she hadn’t heard Niall? He couldn’t be home yet.

And yet, she knew the sound of her own partner’s voice.

She walked slowly back into the hall. From upstairs she heard the sound of thuds and whispers; a giggle then a plea: ‘For God’s sake, Vanessa, she’ll hear you.’

Hardly daring to breathe, she slowly climbed the narrow staircase. There were no more voices but she could hear telltale creaks from the floorboards, the soft click of a door closing, perhaps a desperate “shh”. She reached the turn of the stairs and stepped over a pair of dark blue work trousers, a thick-soled boot and a white shirt. Another shirt and three more safety boots were scattered along the landing like a trail of crumbs leading to the Gingerbread Cottage – or in this case, her and Niall’s bedroom.

Light sneaked out from the foot of the door.

‘Christ, she’s coming upstairs!’

It was unmistakable this time: Niall’s soft Irish brogue, the one she’d fallen for at the club two years before.

Sarah didn’t feel afraid anymore; she felt as if she was sleepwalking around the cottage, in the midst of a bizarre dream. She stood outside the door to her bedroom and lifted the latch on the braced door. It swung inwards with a familiar creak but what she saw in front of her was so unfamiliar, so bloody plain unbelievable that her legs almost gave way.

‘Niall?’

Niall was lying in bed, his wrists tied to the bedposts with two of Sarah’s silk scarves. He was naked except for a tiara.

‘Um, hello, babe.’

She stared at him, trying to compute the scene before her. ‘What are you doing home, Ni?’

‘I thought you were staying at Molly’s tonight,’ he said.

‘No. I’m not.’

‘You said you were.’ He said it accusingly as if Sarah was the one who was naked in bed wearing a tiara.

‘I said I probably wouldn’t.’

‘When?’

‘While you were getting ready to go out. Maybe you didn’t hear me?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

She gawped at his naked body, at his waxed chest and his scar from a run-in with a drunken motorcyclist and his willy, now deflating like a party balloon that had been left behind the sofa.

‘Right. Well, forgive me for asking, but why are you tied to the bed, Niall?’

He peered down at his tackle as if he was surprised to see it at all. ‘I … um … this is not what it looks like, Sarah. I promise you.’

‘What is it, then, Ni?’

‘It’s um … ah, just a game, Sarah. I came home early and I’m … um … so embarrassed.’

‘Tied yourself up, did you, after putting on the tiara?’

‘Well, er …’ His wrists strained against the scarves. She realised that one of them, the silk one with the camellia print, had been her mum’s.

The door to the en suite opened and a tall, spiky woman with inky, poker-straight hair stood in the doorway. She was wearing Sarah’s purple bathrobe and stared at her pityingly. ‘Give it a rest, Niall. I think we’ve been rumbled.’

Niall cut across her. ‘Oh, fuck … Look, Sarah. I can explain. I mean it looks bad. It is bad but I never meant to hurt you.’

The woman swore and folded her arms.

‘That’s my bathrobe,’ Sarah murmured, still half in a trance.

The woman shrugged. ‘It swamps me, anyway,’ she said untying the belt and slipping it off her bony shoulders. She was stark naked underneath apart from two sparkly nipple clamps that tinkled when she moved. Sarah had the bizarre thought that they were actually really pretty and that she should add a new line to her business.

Niall groaned. ‘Jesus, Vanessa!’

‘She may as well know everything – you can’t talk your way out of this one,’ said Vanessa, casually plucking a leopard-print thong from the bedside table. ‘It can’t get any worse for you.’

Niall met Sarah’s eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘Oh, it can, believe me.’

Sarah stepped out of her trance. ‘Get out,’ she said, quietly.

‘Don’t you think I’d better get dressed first?’ Vanessa stepped into the leg of her thong, a smirk on her face.

‘No, actually, I don’t. Get out of my house.’

A great wave of rage hung over her head, on the brink of breaking. She took a step towards the other side of the bed, shaking with anger and shock.

Vanessa’s cocky expression changed to dismay. She held up her hands. ‘All right, love. I can see you and Ni need some time to talk. I’ll just get me uniform first.’

Sarah flashed her teeth at Vanessa. ‘Why don’t you let me help you get dressed?’

Vanessa shook her head and struggled to pull up her thong. ‘No, it’s OK …’

Sarah grabbed the nearest thing to hand: a purple glass tea light holder.

‘Christ, no, Sarah!’ Niall screamed a fraction before the tea light sailed through the air. Vanessa shrieked as the tea light hit the wall, bounced off and knocked the bedside lamp onto the floorboards. The lamp flickered and went off.

‘Jesus, Sarah!’

Ignoring his shout, Sarah dashed around the bottom of the bed. Vanessa leapt onto the duvet.

‘Arghhh!’ Niall screamed as she kneeled on his genitals in her haste to get away from Sarah. She scrambled off the bed with the nipple clamps tinkling madly.

‘Go on, get out of my house!’ Sarah shouted as Vanessa fled out of the door.

‘You’re mad!’ she screeched, scuttling onto the landing like a giant hairless spider.

Sarah followed her onto the landing, picking up the uniform shirt and trousers. She threw them down the stairs on top of Vanessa.

Vanessa clutched her clothes to her body. ‘I can’t go out like this. I need me boots!’

‘Oh, I am soooo sorry, how rude of me. Here you are.’ One after the other, Sarah hurled the boots down the stairs. They thumped against the wall and Vanessa swore as one whizzed past her head and knocked a picture of Niall on his Triumph clean off the wall. Clouds of plaster dust flew into the air.

‘Your girlfriend is fucking mental!’ Vanessa attempted to step into the boots but toppled against the wall.

‘Yeah, I am. Hasn’t Niall told you? I must be to have trusted him!’ Sarah stood at the top of the stairs, not trusting herself to run down them in her condition.

Vanessa’s hair and face were coated in dust. ‘Keep away from me!’ she screeched, hobbling through the front door.

As Vanessa fled, Sarah made her way downstairs, still trembling with shock.

Wearing one boot, with her clothes clutched to her boobs, Vanessa tinkled off down the icy path.

Sarah’s shout echoed into the night after her. ‘And don’t come back!’

Wailing like a banshee, Vanessa scuttled up the pavement, still trying to put her clothes on. A light flicked on in the bedroom of their elderly neighbour who occupied the cottage next door. Sarah didn’t care who heard the row. She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, tears running down her face. She sank down with her back to the door when a bellow cut through her sobs.

‘Sarah! Sarah? What’s happened? Will someone untie me and take this feckin’ tiara off?’




CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_35d61570-6782-5412-8ac4-402bf6391e6d)


Department of Behavioural Ecology

Fenland University

January 2nd

(Scientifically proven to be the most depressing day of the year)

Research Proposal

Objectives To determine why, when a human male asks you to dance at a party, calls you a “sexy nurse” and snogs you in full view of your colleagues, he then proceeds to drop you like you had Ebola.

To discover why male subject #2 allowed (half-witch/half-she-devil) female subject #1 to tie him to a bed and dress him up like a fairy. To discover whether there is a specific reason for this behaviour or whether man in question is just a shit, like 99% of the rest of his sex.

Design Longitudinal cohort study.

Setting Male #1 Research institute.

Male #2 County ambulance service.

Subjects Male #1. Fit and healthy, technically Scottish, demonstrably a genius and a fuckwit. Observed almost daily over six months and two weeks.

Male #2. Not quite so fit. Physically sound but clearly suffering from (temporary) insanity. Demonstrably a total shit with pervy tendencies. Observed daily over two years, five months.

Main outcome measures Determine male subject #1’s behaviour and reasons thereof. Create method to alter male subject’s pattern of behaviour to achieve desired outcome of date/sex/commitment, ideally all three.

Determine male subject #2’s behaviour and reasons thereof. Create method to spontaneously make his tiny dick shrivel up and his balls drop off and/or realise what he has done and crawl back on his belly to lovely, amazing sister who will then walk all over him in her stilettos and tell him to fuck fuckity fuck off.

Results To be advised but not hopeful.

Conclusions To be determined.

Molly stopped typing and stared out of the window of the lab. The sky was the colour of an old dishcloth and big wet snowflakes were settling on the statue of Isaac Newton outside her window. It was a grey, soggy January the second and even Isaac looked pissed off. It also seemed wholly appropriate considering what had happened over the past thirty-six hours.

She’d been woken at nine a.m. by Sarah sobbing down the phone. Apparently, she’d got home to find Niall having kinky sex with a naked woman who drove his ambulance. Sarah had been almost hysterical – not that Molly blamed her – and Molly had spent the rest of the day dispensing tissues, chocolate and vodka – for herself – at Sarah’s cottage.

Molly had listened to the whole sorry story, almost in tears herself. Niall had apparently begged Sarah to forgive him for three hours, until Sarah had finally untied him from the bed and kicked him out. He’d fled to his mother’s, blaming Sarah for causing Vanessa “mild hypothermia” and himself severe emotional distress. Sarah had then had to go around to her neighbour, Mrs Sugden, and apologise and explain that Vanessa wasn’t a prostitute, but a friend of Niall’s who’d been to a nearby fancy-dress party, got very drunk and sought refuge in the cottage before becoming violently deranged. Sarah couldn’t bear to tell her neighbour the truth yet.

Molly had to admit that next to Sarah’s woes, being publicly rejected by Ewan paled into insignificance. However, it was still humiliating and hurtful, especially as she had to work with him.

She returned to her paper, trying to concentrate until her desk phone rang. When she saw the extension number, she swore and braced herself.

‘Good morning, Professor Baxter.’

‘Um. Molly. Would you mind popping into my private office for a few minutes? If it’s convenient, of course. I’d like to discuss our next grant application for the Love Bug.’

Molly inspected her nails before replying. ‘Surely, you’re referring to Hormone XTB229, Professor Baxter?’

‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’

‘Of course not, Professor Baxter. I’ll be up in five minutes, Professor Baxter.’

‘Molly, can you please stop calling me Prof—’

Click. Burr. Molly winced. She’d dropped the receiver a nanosecond sooner than she’d really intended. Or maybe not. Ewan didn’t deserve an ounce of her guilt. She took a deep breath and attempted to get things into perspective. They’d both had too much to drink; it had been New Year’s Eve. Surely, you were allowed to make a pass at your boss, photocopy your arse, dress as a naughty nurse, ask him what was under his kilt? It was the Season of Misrule and anyway, it was only a kiss … followed by a moment of public humiliation that was excruciating but would pass. Eventually.

Not like Sarah had endured. Catching the bloke she adored and trusted shagging another woman; having her world turned upside down when she was at her most vulnerable. Molly should probably man up, although if “manning up” seemed to mean behaving like a cowardly louse, she’d rather stick pins in her eyes.

The blind rattled in the draught and the snow, now sleety, skittered against the pane. Molly held her finger on the file delete button and then changed her mind. Instead she pressed save and salted away the study in a file marked: “Reminder to reorder glove supplies” in a folder marked “Missellaneos”, which was deliberately spelled wrongly to remind her not to attach it to a real email.

Gathering up her notepad, she trudged down the corridor towards Ewan’s “private” office. So he wanted to discuss the abstract, did he? Well, she could tell him a few places where he could shove his “abstract”. That was one of the advantages of having a PhD in behavioural ecology.

For half an hour, they discussed the abstract while Molly simmered silently. Judging by the way he kept fiddling with his pen, Ewan was squirming as much as her. Finally, the discussion was over.

‘OK. I think that will do it,’ he said, sounding relieved, like he’d been let off a life sentence.

Molly got to her feet, clutching her notebook to her chest. ‘Right, I’ll get back to work. I’m so busy in the lab.’

Ewan stared at her from his deep espresso eyes. Molly suddenly decided a stain on the tiles was intensely interesting.

‘Before you go, I think it would be a good idea if we discussed the elephant in the room.’

Molly couldn’t help herself. ‘What elephant’s that, then, Ewan? Are we moving on from primate research to pachyderms?’

‘There’s no need for sarcasm. I’m trying to be mature about this.’

‘Really? And it was mature to snog me and pull a party popper out of my top and then get cold feet?’

‘First, that party popper could have gone off at any moment and second, I didn’t get cold feet.’

Molly snorted.

‘I didn’t get cold feet,’ Ewan said. ‘Believe me I wanted to …’ His voice tailed off.

‘Wanted to what?’

‘You know …’

Molly put her notebook back on the desk and raised an eyebrow. ‘Not really. Could you be more precise, please, Professor Baxter.’

‘I wanted to take you to bed!’ Ewan burst out then threw up his hands and groaned. He lowered his voice. ‘Please don’t make this any harder for me.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of making anything hard for you. Not after the other night.’

Ewan covered his face with his hand. Molly hated him and herself for the shivery tingle in her limbs when he’d said, “take you to bed”. It was pathetic.

‘If you wanted to do it, why didn’t you?’ she said. ‘Are you that worried about what those idiots in the lab think?’

‘No, of course not!’ He tapped his pen on the table. ‘No, that’s a lie. Yes. Yes I am but not because I’m put off by a few stupid comments. It’s what those comments have made me realise.’

‘And that is?’

‘I don’t have to spell it out, do I? It would be unprofessional of me. If I sleep with you, start seeing you, how can I supervise you and work with you after that? What if I need to promote you or interview you for a job? What if I have to …’

‘Discipline me?’ she cut in.

‘For God’s sake. Can you please not say things like that?’

‘Why not?’

His pen clattered onto the desk top. ‘You know perfectly well why not and there’ll be no need for discipline, because you – and I – are going to behave with utmost discretion and professionalism. We are going to focus one hundred and ten per cent on our work.’

‘I don’t think that’s actually possible, Professor Baxter, or did you fail statistics?’

He glared at her. Molly fancied him more than ever, if it was possible. ‘We are going to focus totally on our research, making this project a success and publishing our results. There will be gossip and speculation, naturally, for a few days but it will pass. People will soon realise that there is nothing between us beyond a professional relationship.’

‘Of course not, Professor,’ Molly said coolly.

‘Please stop calling me Professor. You’ll thank me for this one day. One day very soon. There is nothing worse, believe me, than a relationship failing, and that’s when the two people have to see each other every day at work. If you want to know what it’s like to hate the sight of someone you once cared for, then let’s go ahead and shag each other’s brains out for a few weeks but then it will all go wrong. Office romances are a recipe for disaster. Trust me.’

She was momentarily stunned into silence by this outburst.

‘So you care about your career more than being happy?’ she said, eventually.

‘No, I care about yours.’

His phone rang. He mouthed “fuck” before snatching up the handset. ‘What is it? I’m in a bloody meeting … Oh, yes, Dame Eleanor. I’m so sorry. Yes, I was working late last night and went to the party on New Year’s Eve. You’re right, I should probably get more sleep but you know how busy we are … Come to your office now? No … no … I’m almost done here. I’ll be up in five minutes … Yes, coffee would be a great idea.’

She sat, arms folded, enjoying him squirming as he spoke to their eminent head of faculty.

Eventually, he put the phone down. ‘And, that,’ he said quietly, ‘is exactly what I meant about bringing relationships into the workplace. Now, as you heard, I have a meeting with Dame Eleanor. I expect you to go back to the lab and get on with the abstract for that paper. I want to get into a decent journal with the two of us as co-authors, which can only be good for your career. And the next time we meet, I also expect things to be back on civil, professional terms. Am I making myself clear?’ he said coldly.

There was something in his tone that told Molly not to argue. He was, after all, her boss and she’d pushed him further than she ever thought she’d dare. It was all hideously unfair of course, but possibly, maybe, he had a point and she really wanted her name as co-author on the paper. It would be a big thing to be associated with Ewan Baxter, in scientific terms if not in other ways.

She picked up her notebook again. ‘Perfectly clear,’ she said and walked to the door, hoping that the clogging in her throat wasn’t the start of an infection.

‘I’m sorry, Molly. It just wouldn’t work between us,’ said Ewan. ‘No matter how much I like and respect you. Let’s not spoil what is, after all, a great working relationship.’

Molly’s favoured replies included an expletive but she stopped short. ‘You’re probably right,’ she muttered and shut the door.




CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_25507a26-dc85-5d45-b225-1f3f19dbdca1)


In the Tiara Kabin, Sarah fixed on a smile as her first wedding client of the year unfurled a list of demands that would rival a hip-hop diva. She just hoped her customer wouldn’t notice her puffy eyes, but luckily Cassandra Burling rarely noticed anything that didn’t stare back from her own mirror.

‘I’d want the pearls dyed to exactly match my shoes. I’ve brought one of them so you can see what I want,’ said Cassandra Burling, ‘and there will be six matching hair slides for the bridesmaids and two smaller ones for the flower girls.’

‘I’m sure I can help …’ said Sarah with a smile, while silently screaming.

‘And I want a Swarovski crystals dove with a pearl in his beak to symbolise our union. And I want the bridesmaids’ hair clips all done to match but not as nice as mine, obvs. Then there’s the necklaces for my mum and his mum, not that the evil cow deserves anything but we can’t leave her out or she’ll probably cut us out of her will …’

Finally Cassandra drew breath. She picked at the plastic on the edge of the coffee table with a Barbie-pink nail.

‘You can do that by the end of the month, can’t you?’ she added, flicking a piece of plastic onto the floor of the workshop.

Sarah swallowed down a gasp of dismay. ‘The end of this month? As in the end of January?’

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘I thought you told me your wedding was in May?’

‘Oh, it was but we’ve got a cancellation at a theme park. It’s on Valentine’s Day and there’s a cable telly contest for Valentine’s Day brides. I want to have the ceremony on the Termination ride at Adrenalin Park. We’ll be upside down while the celebrant marries us but I still want to look ahm-azing. If you win, the telly company give you all your money back for the wedding and honeymoon.’ Cassandra folded her arms. ‘No one will be able to beat that idea.’

Sarah wanted to vom at the very thought of being upside down. ‘No. I doubt if they will, but won’t the headdresses fall off on the ride?’

‘Oh, you’ll come up with something and if I win, your tiaras and stuff will be all over Brekkie.’

‘Wow,’ said Sarah.

‘Anyway, we’ve brought everything forward and I need the headdresses for a trial run at the salon at the end of January. You can do it, can’t you?’ Cassandra’s voice took on a vaguely menacing tone.

‘Well, there’s a lot of work, especially if I have to adapt them to being worn upside down, at high speed with all that G force.’

‘Well, I’d have thought you’d have been gagging for the work, and maybe offering me a discount if I’m going to advertise your work on Brekkie … but if you don’t need the business, I could try someone else.’

‘Yes, I do. Of course, I want the business and of course, I’ll do it.’ Sarah forced a smile to her face. She needed the business more than ever now that Niall had moved out. ‘Don’t worry, everything will be ready for your big day,’ she said soothingly.

‘Good, because I want it all to be totally one hundred and ten per cent perfect.’

‘Of course, it’s once in a lifetime.’

Cassandra examined her nail. ‘Well, yeah, I suppose so. If it lasts. But that’s marriage, innit – a lottery?’ she added cheerfully.

Cassandra didn’t sound the slightest bit bothered by the prospect of her relationship not lasting and Sarah couldn’t say she was shocked or even surprised. Cassandra wasn’t the first bride she’d had who looked on the wedding mainly as an excuse to have a party and be a princess for the day. And after all, wasn’t that what she was selling? Be a princess. Wear a tiara. Pretend you’re Kate or Meghan or Princess Aurora? Sarah was in the fairy-tale business after all, but she’d liked to think she had a slightly less cynical approach than some of the suppliers – a more personal touch, a genuine sincerity that most customers recognised even if they didn’t all appreciate it.

‘The headdresses will all be ready,’ she said, hardening her heart and opening her appointments book. ‘Shall we say you come round for a fitting four weeks from today?’

‘Fab.’ Cassandra studied the Kabin, sighing wistfully. ‘What a cute little hut this is. It reminds me of a fairy grotto. I wish I could give up my job and play around with crystals and beads.’

Sarah restrained herself only by a great effort of will. ‘So do I.’

Digging her Swarovski-encrusted pearlescent pink iPhone out of her Mulberry bag, Cassandra left the Kabin with a tiny finger wave.

After she’d left, Sarah made herself a ginger tea and sat down. She couldn’t really criticise Cassandra. Who was the deluded one? Cassandra who was determined to make a statement on this one day – and stuff the lifetime afterwards, which was optional anyway? Or Molly who was, despite her protests, patently in love with her ambitious, frigid boss.

Or Sarah herself? Deluding herself that she and Niall were different. Special.

Until now Sarah had been happy that she’d given up a decent job with a bank to pursue the creative hobby she loved. She’d spent enough time helping other people get their businesses up and running in the decade or so that she’d worked at the bank. Although she didn’t begrudge a nanosecond of the time she’d devoted to making sure Molly had a good start in life, she’d been so excited at finally being able to do something for herself that was a bit risky, a bit crazy and a lot wonderful.

So what if some people at the bank had thought and told her she was selling brides a cheesy, sparkly pipe dream? She was doing what she loved best, while trying to make a future for herself and her baby.

Closing her appointments book, she took a few deep breaths and told herself to snap out of her gloom and get on with her work. Cassandra was her only appointment for the day, although she had several workshops to prepare for later in the week.

In fact, she ought to get started on Cassandra’s commission right now, but she simply couldn’t face it. It was far more tempting to curl up in bed and bawl her eyes out again – although even that would mean sleeping in the bed where Niall had been shagging Vanessa.

She locked the garden gate as Cassandra roared off in her BMW and a lump formed in her throat. The early morning drizzle had cleared and the sky was now an unblemished blue. Birds cawed from the cottage chimney, the sun gave the creamy stone a mellow hue and the whole place looked impossibly cute and picturesque. She and Niall had worked their butts off to afford it. She swallowed down her tears as she heard the “beep beep” of the bin lorry reversing up the lane. It wouldn’t do to blub in front of the bin men and anyway, she would never have Niall back again, even if he begged her on his knees in front of the bin men.

She hurried back to the workshop. Anger had replaced the initial shock of finding Niall in bed with Vanessa, combined with worries about what their split meant for her future and that of the baby. She needed to make her business work more than ever if she was going to be a single mum.

Another wave of nausea washed over her but she took a few deep breaths. She had to think of the baby now though it was hard to imagine a life beyond the cottage and the Tiara Kabin. She remembered the days they’d toiled on it in rain, hail and shine the previous autumn. It had a space where she could run her small workshops and entertain clients, with a tiny kitchenette for preparing drinks and snacks. Niall had got a mate to plumb in the sink and Sarah’s electrician cousin had wired it up to the mains. It was hardly the Grand Arcade but she loved it and the investment had finally been starting to pay off.

Closing the door behind her, she took some long, slow breaths. If she had to move out of the cottage, she’d have to find somewhere with room for the Kabin. But where and how could she possibly afford another place near Cambridge with outdoor space on her own?

On the desk, a light flashed on the phone. A message had come in while she’d shown Cassandra to the gate.

It could be Niall again … saying he’d made a massive mistake and begging her to let him back. She wouldn’t, of course … absolutely no way.

Sarah listened then rolled her eyes as she heard heavy breathing then a clatter and a groan and someone muttering, ‘Oh bugger.’ Her finger hovered over the delete key. The last thing she needed was a pervert asking the colour of her knickers.

‘Erm. Really sorry about that. I dropped the phone.’

Sarah listened. It was a man’s voice. Neutral accent, older than her, maybe, but not much? There was more heavy breathing. Sarah’s finger touched the button then he spoke.

‘I was wondering if you er … had any places left on your tiara-making workshop?’

Sarah removed her finger from the button. OK. Probably not a pervert and it wasn’t unheard of for guys to attend a workshop but … She’d had a couple, once, who wanted to make matching Swarovski crystal cravat pins for their civil partnership but, without stereotyping people – actually she was stereotyping people – she was ninety-nine per cent sure this guy must be gay. Or he could be a cross dresser, of course, which was fine, or at a push, the director of a local am dram group.

‘The tiara’s not for me, of course,’ he said.

‘Of course not,’ Sarah muttered to herself.

‘It’s for my daughter who’s getting married …’

Sarah arched an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘I know it must sound strange …’

‘Just a little.’

‘But it’s something I want to do.’

Sarah sighed. She really didn’t need to know all this in an answerphone message but this poor guy clearly needed to get it off his chest.

‘So if you can phone me back, I’d appreciate it.’ Brisker now, faster and more confident. He’d obviously got through the worst part and felt on safer ground. ‘And if you could call me back as soon as possible, I’d be grateful. I’m in a bit of a rush, you see.’

‘A rush? Hey, you should meet Cassandra.’

‘Thanks.’

The phone went dead.

Sarah sighed and tidied up the bundle of bridal magazines that Cassandra had flicked through while Sarah had made her a coffee. Behind her the phone started buzzing again. Sarah’s heart beat a little faster. This time it really might be Niall but she was frozen to the spot, not knowing what to say to him if he called.

The answerphone pinged again and the same voice echoed around the workshop.

‘Erm. Sorry for this but it’s Liam Cipriani again. I don’t think I left my number in the last message. Or my name for that matter. But as I said, it’s Liam. Cipriani. Here it is. 0787 …’

‘No shit, Sherlock?’ Sarah’s shoulders slumped as with another apology and a further request to “phone him back as soon as she possibly could”, Liam rang off.

She hovered by the phone a few moments longer, just in case he felt the need to tell her his life story or provide his inside leg measurement, before stacking the magazines in the middle of the table. As she rubbed the lipstick off Cassandra’s mug in the sink, she wondered why Liam had booked when he sounded as if he’d rather have his chest hairs plucked out one by one than attend a tiara-making workshop. Why was he coming at all, rather than his daughter?

And she really should phone him back right now.

‘Hello!’

Startled, Sarah saw a face at the window. A bald red-faced guy in a hi-vis vest grinned back at her. She opened the door and the cold hit her.

‘Erm, excuse me, love, this dropped out of the bin and I’m not sure you want to throw it out or if you dropped it on your way to your shed?’

The bin man held up the tiara, slightly deformed but still recognisable. It had a string of spaghetti dangling from it.

‘Oh, I see. I …’ Sarah couldn’t think of a way to say why she’d thrown the tiara in the bin, but worse than that, she couldn’t let the tiara go. Not even after its last wearer had been Niall, and Vanessa had possibly worn it too, for all she knew.

‘You want it then or shall I chuck it on the wagon?’ he asked.

‘No. I’ll have it.’

She took the tiara from him, shivering. ‘Thanks.’

He grinned. ‘Pleasure. Happy New Year.’

Sarah looked at the tiara. It was slightly bent but it had always been a reject. It was one from the early days when she was still learning her craft. Not good enough to sell but one of the first she’d actually been pleased with. The first one worth keeping.

The bin man jogged back up the path, steam rising from his head in the chilly air. Sarah stood by the door, the tiara between her frozen fingertips. The string of spaghetti slithered to the paving stones. Why hadn’t she let him take the bloody thing to the tip, which was what it deserved – just like Niall.




CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_dbd40d33-3718-53cc-af92-5b1e91035116)


A couple of days later, Sarah sat nervously opposite the GP in her surgery. The doctor was new and probably even younger than Sarah. She beamed in delight. ‘So, Mrs Havers, you’re almost eight weeks pregnant. Congratulations.’

Sarah didn’t know what to say. Of course, she already knew she was pregnant, but hearing it confirmed officially was surreal.

The GP smiled encouragingly. ‘Pregnancy and motherhood is a huge change for any woman and it can come as a bit of a shock. Are you OK?’

‘Yes … yes, like you say, it’s a bit of a shock.’

‘Does your partner know?’

‘Not yet.’ Sarah thought of the six missed calls on her phone. Niall had been trying to reach her over the past few days but she hadn’t trusted herself to answer him. Her focus had been on the baby and today’s doctor’s appointment. ‘It’s Ms Havers by the way.’

Sarah didn’t think the GP had heard her reply because she just carried on. ‘Going by the date of your LMP, your due date should be the thirtieth of August. I’ll send you for a scan as soon as possible and the midwifery team will take over from there. You’ll also need …’ The GP went on, listing all the places Sarah needed to be and people she had to see and things she couldn’t eat, drink or touch. That was one thing then: she now had a great excuse for never going near goat’s cheese.

‘Now, I need to ask a few questions about your family health history. Is there any history of …?’ The GP reeled off a list of diseases and genetic conditions.

Sarah knew the answer to a few of the questions but most were answered with: ‘I’m not sure.’

‘I’m sorry to be so vague but my parents died when I was a teenager so I can’t ask them. I’ll have to phone my auntie and uncle and see if they know.’

‘And I’m sorry to hear about your parents,’ said the GP, looking genuinely sympathetic. ‘And all these questions and information must seem like an awful lot to take in when you’re still coming to terms with being pregnant. Maybe you can ask your partner about his own family history when you give him the news?’

Oh hell, she had to tell Niall at some point, if only in case there was some terrible genetic problem in his family that she didn’t know about. It wasn’t likely as he’d never mentioned any problems but then, they’d never discussed having children. She felt rather than heard the buzzing of her phone in her bag at her feet.

‘Yes. Yes, I will,’ she said and hurried out of the surgery.

There were two more calls from Niall. Knowing she couldn’t ignore him forever, Sarah found a parking space on a side street near one of the university departments and walked through the Backs into the centre of the city where she was due to meet Molly. She listened to one of Niall’s messages.

‘Sarah. Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call you. You must let me explain about the other night … me and Ness. It’s not what you think. It was … a huge mistake.’

‘Gah!’

Sarah’s snort of disgust sent a flock of ducks scattering onto the river, quacking loudly. Even though it was winter, there were still plenty of tourists taking selfies, loitering in the middle of the road and almost getting run over by bikes. Students whizzed around the narrow streets by the market square, ringing their bells when a hapless pedestrian dared to cross. Sarah wandered in and out of JoJo Maman Bébé and John Lewis, looking at the cribs and baby baths, the tiny pairs of jeans and miniature Ugg boots.

Her eyes watered at the price tags but her baby would need all of these things from somewhere. She definitely wanted it to have them, except it would be summer when she or he made an appearance and she – or he – would need pretty dresses or cute shorts and mini jelly sandals. She would have to provide it all, with Niall’s help, of course. The responsibility was overwhelming … and apart from Molly, there was no family to share the news with, no mum or dad … Her parents would have loved a grandchild, if they’d been here. God, she’d give anything to share her news with them, even if she and Ni had split up.

She’d give anything to turn back the clock. She stopped on the edge of the pavement, her legs suddenly weak and her head light. It was only the shock of the past few weeks and the baby making her feel faint. It was understandable, normal … Her legs almost gave way and she stumbled into the road.

‘Whoa!’

She stepped back onto the pavement just as a cyclist whizzed by, so close she felt the rush of air against her face. Sarah hadn’t even noticed him approach. Had she got baby brain already? She glanced around, expecting people to stare or roll their eyes at her doziness but everyone hurried past, oblivious to her presence. That’s what it would be like from now on, she thought. She was on her own.

Feeling hot despite the bitter air, she hurried along the narrow lane that snaked between the market and the street where the café was situated. A cool drink and a sit-down would help but the stone walls of the colleges seemed to press in on her and she had to dodge round tourists taking photos outside porters’ lodges.

Although it had started to sleet, she pulled her scarf out of her coat to let the sharp air cool her chest, but she still felt hot and light-headed. If she could make the café and sit down, gulp down a glass of iced water, she’d be OK … She spotted the railings outside the café, with student notices and playbills fluttering in the wind, and put her hand over her mouth.

Oh no, she was going to be sick! But far better to throw up in the café toilets than vom over a tourist.

She hurried down the pavement and stepped onto the wet cobbles.

‘Look out!’

A bell jangled loudly and she felt a sharp tug on the back of her coat.

‘Hey!’ The curse from the cyclist was already just a streak of noise.

‘Are you OK?’ A tall man in a black padded jacket held her by the elbow.

Sarah caught her breath ‘Yes. I … yes, of course.’

‘You do know you almost stepped right in front of that idiot?’

‘I know. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I think I might be the idiot.’

‘He was on his mobile, the twat, but you did seem to be in a world of your own.’

If Sarah hadn’t felt so crap, she might have been offended but she didn’t have the energy. ‘I’m not feeling that great, but thanks.’

‘No problem.’

‘You can let go of my elbow now,’ she said. ‘You’re Ewan, aren’t you?’

Ewan’s bushy eyebrows met in a frown that weirdly did nothing to spoil his ruggedly handsome looks. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I’m Moll’s sister.’ Sarah hoped she wouldn’t throw up on his Timberland boots.

‘Mol?’

‘Dr Molly Havers. Your colleague from the lab? I was at the – um … New Year party with her.’ Sarah could have kicked herself for mentioning the scene of Molly’s humiliation but it was too late now.

‘Oh yes. That Molly, of course. Sorry.’ He glanced down at Sarah. ‘You do look pale. Are you ill?’

Wow, he is blunt, thought Sarah. No wonder Molly’s having a hard time with him and judging by the way he hadn’t instantly recognised her sister’s name, it didn’t bode well.

‘I just felt a bit light-headed and nauseated for a second.’

‘Do you want to sit down? I can get you a glass of water from the café?’ His dark brown eyes held genuine concern and boy, was he gorgeous. Poor Molly, thought Sarah, he might be a bit of a prat but close up he was a real heartbreaker.

‘I think I was just too hot but I’m feeling a bit better now and I don’t want to put you to any trouble. You must be busy. In the lab …’ she added, remembering Molly’s comments about her boss being a workaholic.

‘It’s no trouble. I came out for some fresh air, and to be honest I could do with a break. I’ve been in the lab since four o’clock this morning.’

Ewan smiled, the way Sarah had seen him smile when he’d asked Molly to dance, only this time he was sober, she was sure, unless he had a secret daytime drinking habit. Sarah hesitated a moment longer then decided. Surely this was the perfect opportunity to bring Molly and Ewan together on neutral territory?

She threw him a smile. ‘Then for your sake, I’ll say yes. Thanks.’

‘Good. Is the Old Church Café OK? It’s right opposite.’

‘Perfect.’

By the time they’d found a table in the café, Sarah’s sickness had subsided although she still felt what her and Molly’s mum had liked to call “peculiar”. However, seated in a cool corner of the café next to a window that Ewan had insisted on opening, she was beginning to feel more normal. While Ewan queued at the counter, she glanced at the text she’d just had from Molly and felt slightly guilty.

Running 10 min late. Just setting off from lab. See you asap. x




Would Molly thank her or be furious? Would Ewan be embarrassed? Sarah didn’t think so; he seemed quite kind and considerate under the blunt exterior and he must fancy Molly or he wouldn’t have come onto her at the party, even if he was pissed. Perhaps he was being kind to Sarah specifically because she was Molly’s sister: maybe he wanted to show Molly he did have a softer side. Then again, Sarah thought, she might be making the situation far worse than it already was, but it was too late now.

Carrying a tray, Ewan weaved his way between the tables, drawing admiring glances from several of the other customers. When Molly arrived, how would Sarah explain that she’d arranged to meet her and hadn’t mentioned the fact to Ewan? Oh shh … sugar.

With a smile, he put the tray in front of her. ‘OK. I got a glass of iced tap water and a ginger tea and some ginger biscuits. It’s meant to be good for nausea although of course it’s purely the hydration and rise in blood sugar that helps.’

‘Um. Thank you,’ said Sarah, wondering if this could really be the cold and mercurial man who’d dumped Molly at the party. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh, I can’t let you pay.’

Ewan looked at her sternly but not unkindly. ‘Shut up and drink your tea.’

Right, thought Sarah, I will do. Bloody hell, Molly had definitely bitten off more than she could chew with this one. She was mightily glad he wasn’t her boss and that she didn’t have a boss at all because if she was going to feel sick, faint and burst into tears at random moments, she didn’t know how she would have held down a conventional job as she once did. But then again, a job would have come with its salary and rights and maternity leave …

‘Better?’ Ewan cut into her thoughts.

‘Yes, thanks.’

Sarah sipped the water and tried the ginger tea while Ewan tackled a large cappuccino. Molly had told her he was an Iberian Celt. Sarah wasn’t entirely sure what that meant genetically but it had produced a very alpha human being and Sarah could understand exactly why Molly had fallen for him. It must be excruciating to work together on a project like the Love Bug …

‘Are you very busy at work? Molly says so,’ she said, hoping Molly would put in an appearance soon.

‘Does she?’ said Ewan, his interest piqued. Sarah wondered if she’d said the right thing.

‘Well, she obviously never tells me anything about what you’re working on,’ said Sarah hastily. ‘That would be unprofessional. She loved Science at school and always had her head in a textbook. I preferred English and Art.’

Ewan smiled. ‘I enjoyed Art but I had to drop it. My teachers thought I had too much on my plate with my Science GSCEs and A levels and they were probably right. What do you do now?’

‘I run my own business.’

‘Really? What do you do?’

‘I used to work in a bank. I managed the SME liaison team but now I um … have my own small craft business.’

‘Craft? What sort? Sculpture? Woodwork?’

‘Jewellery, actually.’ Sarah knew she should be proud of her business and hated herself for feeling embarrassed about it but Molly had banged on so often about Ewan’s fearsome intellectual reputation.

‘Silversmith? Or another material?’

‘I do use silver wire. I make tiaras …’

‘That sounds high-powered. For royalty?’ He smiled – briefly – probably to show he was joking and wasn’t used to it, Sarah decided. Whatever, she wasn’t offended at his joke.

‘In my dreams. No, for brides, mainly, though some of them do behave like princesses. Most, in fact,’ she said, thinking of Cassandra Burling’s demands. ‘I sometimes do commissions and I run workshops for brides and people who want to create their own jewellery.’ Like Liam Cipriani, she thought, making a mental note to call him back.

‘I must admit that bridal tiaras are out of my sphere of expertise,’ said Ewan.

But he was married once, Molly had said. Sarah wondered if the ex-Mrs Baxter had worn a tiara. Somehow, she couldn’t picture it.

‘How are you feeling? Do you think you should see your GP about the faintness?’

‘I already have. In fact, I saw her this morning. I’m pregnant.’

Ewan looked taken aback but then nodded. ‘Aha. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’ Sarah managed to squeeze the muscles of her mouth into a very fleeting smile. Even though Niall was a shit, she still desperately wanted this baby, but Ewan was too sharp not to notice her reluctance.

‘Did I say the wrong thing?’

‘No. You didn’t. It’s just … well, my partner and I have split up.’ Christ, it hurt her heart to even say it out loud. ‘The night of the party actually.’

‘Bummer. I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

Ewan fiddled with the wrapper off the biscuits. ‘It’s never easy, when a relationship goes wrong. Spectacularly wrong in my case.’ He glanced up at her. ‘I’d like to say it gets easier and I suppose it does but it takes a long time.’

‘How long?’ asked Sarah, wishing he hadn’t said anything that made her heart hurt. But now like a child drawn to a flame, she had to feel the pain, know the worst from someone who’d been through it.

‘Everyone’s different, obviously, but for me? Six months before I even accepted she’d gone.’

‘And now? How long has it been since she left you?’

Ewan blew out a breath. ‘Two years, eleven months and ten days.’

Sarah’s jaw dropped. ‘Please tell me I can’t feel this bad for the next three years.’

‘Oh no, I hope not. You won’t, I’m sure.’

Sarah’s disbelief must have been obvious because Ewan’s voice took on a slightly more soothing tone. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m making things worse, aren’t I? I do that: make things worse for people whenever I open my mouth. I think I’m trying to help but I end up making people feel like shit. Anna – my ex – said I was the most tactless man on the planet. It was one of the reasons she ran off with a colleague, along with me being a workaholic and possibly a little bit obsessive.’

Even though she wasn’t reassured, Sarah managed a smile for him. ‘You’re not making things worse. I don’t feel they could be any worse at the moment and I know that getting over Niall will be awful, even though I would never take him back of course, which is exactly why I can’t face it.’

‘Well, at least you don’t work with this guy. Do you?’

‘No. He’s a paramedic.’ Hot anger surged through her veins again as she relived the scene in the cottage bedroom. ‘I came home after the party to find him having sex in our bed with the bloody woman who drives the ambulance. He was wearing one of my tiaras.’

‘Bloody hell …’ Ewan had hissed the words through his teeth but a nearby customer glared at him. He lowered his voice. ‘That’s terrible.’

All Sarah could do was nod.

‘Anna left me for one of the post-docs in my lab at my old uni. She was his boss and I was her colleague. It was crap having to work together every day. I left in the end and got the job here in Cambridge but the last three months were a hell on earth, seeing her and him together every day.’

‘I’ll bet it was,’ said Sarah innocently, knowing that Molly had told her about Ewan’s lecture on the perils of people working – and shagging – together.

‘However, I’ve learned my lesson. I will never get involved with anyone I work with again as much for their sake as well as mine,’ said Ewan firmly.

‘It sounds awful.’

‘Everyone in the lab knew what had happened between the three of us and I know most were waiting for me to have a meltdown or us all to have a bloody duel or something. People ended up taking sides and the atmosphere in the lab was a nightmare. You know, refusing to share offices or go to the pub together, sitting separately at lunch; acting like schoolkids. It was impossible to behave professionally or focus on our work and excruciating to have everyone at work knowing about our private lives.’ Ewan went on gloomily. ‘I took my eye off the ball and we missed out on a major grant that was vital to our work.’

Sarah felt sorry for him but she was way more worried for her sister’s chances with Ewan. They were looking worse by the minute and she had a suspicion that Ewan might be telling her his sorry tale precisely because he knew Sarah would be bound to pass on the conversation to Molly and warn her off. Oh shit.

Molly breezed up to the table in her hi-vis jacket carrying a cycle helmet. ‘Sarah! I am so sorry I’m late …’ She stared at Ewan like he was a zombie. ‘Ewan? What are you doing here?’

‘I was just going actually.’ He scraped back his chair and got to his feet with indecent haste.

Sarah cringed on Molly’s behalf. ‘I wasn’t feeling well and Ewan saw me. He bought me a drink,’ she said hastily.

‘I can see that. Why didn’t you text me?’

‘I … um …’ Sarah floundered. Ewan didn’t have to be a professor to realise that Sarah had expected Molly all along.

‘I must go. I’d hate to interrupt your lunch,’ he said coolly.

‘Wait, Ewan. I was going to mention that Molly was meeting me here but when we got talking, I um … forgot. Thanks for the tea and helping me.’

Ewan shrugged. ‘No problem. Take care. Bye, Molly.’

‘You don’t have to go.’ Sarah cringed as she and Molly both spoke at once and both sounded desperate.

‘I’ve been away long enough. Molly, see you later. I presume you were planning to come in later to finish the sequencing?’

‘Yes, but …’

But Ewan was out of there, leaving Molly glaring at Sarah.

‘Right. I’m going to get some more tea and when I come back,’ she said in an ominous tone, ‘I want you to tell me what Ewan said and I mean everything. Don’t spare me. I want you to be brutally honest.’

Sarah wasn’t in the mood for being brutal. She wasn’t even in the mood for being a teeny bit harsh. She would, eventually and tactfully, drop hints about Ewan’s private life but she wasn’t sure Molly could cope with the whole truth in one go.

Molly put a cup of ginger tea in front of Sarah and a hot chocolate topped with cream and marshmallows for her. The sight of the cream made Sarah feel woozy so she sipped her tea.

‘OK?’ Molly asked.

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘Good. Now, spill.’

‘We, um … just talked about the weather, mainly.’

‘The weather? Ewan doesn’t register if it’s arctic or tropical, he spends so long in the lab. You must have talked about other stuff.’

‘Honestly, I wasn’t feeling very well and I almost walked in front of a cyclist and he brought me in here and then, you came.’

‘Just what I suspected. He fancies you.’ Molly scooped some of the cream, and it oozed over the rim into her saucer.

Sarah tried to avert her eyes. ‘He doesn’t fancy me. He was just being kind because he’s a nice guy but I can see what you mean about him being blunt … Molly, don’t do that thing with your lips, like you’re pissed off because I swear on my life that Ewan likes you, because he pulled silly string out of your boobs and he snogged you with tongues and told you he wanted to take you to bed. He feels sorry for me and he wanted a break and a chat to someone who is nothing to do with the lab … Men don’t get much opportunity to talk about their feelings so I guess he just took a chance.’

‘Ewan looking for the chance to talk about his feelings?’ Molly snorted chocolate on the table. ‘But he must have known that whatever he “shared” would get straight back to me. So come on, share.’

Sarah tried, as tactfully as she could, to relay what Ewan had told her. Molly munched a pain au chocolat gloomily while Sarah relayed the conversation.

‘Jesus, you’ve found out more about his private life in ten minutes than I have in ten months. He hinted to me that his split with his wife had caused a lot of trouble at work but you got all the details. He must have known you’d pass it on. It’s a message to me: back off, there’s no hope.’

‘I’m not sure he did tell me so I could warn you. I think he genuinely wanted someone to talk to from outside of work.’

‘But he knows you’re my sister. He must have had an ulterior motive.’

‘Mol, have you ever thought that you might be overthinking this?’

‘Overthinking is my job.’ Molly paused. ‘He must fancy you.’

‘You’re wrong and even if he did like me in that way – which I’m absolutely sure he doesn’t – it wouldn’t matter. He is gorgeous and he’s nice but I don’t want Ewan. I don’t want anyone. I just want things back the way they were.’

‘Oh, hon, I wish I could do something to help you … Are you absolutely sure Ewan didn’t say anything else about me?’

By the time Molly had drunk the chocolate and eaten her pastry, Sarah had almost managed to convince her that Ewan hadn’t said anything momentous. Eventually, just as Sarah had despaired of ever being let off the hook, Molly gave her a sympathetic look.

‘You do look knackered. Here’s me, obsessing over bloody Ewan again and you have real problems. How did you get on at the doctor’s? Have they given you a due date?’

‘Uh-huh. Towards the end of August.’

‘Wow. That’s a long time away.’

‘It seems horrendously close to me.’

‘I suppose so, if you’re the one with the baby. Oh, ignore me, Sarah, I’m hopeless. I may know a lot about reproduction in theory, but in practice, I’m worse than clueless.’

‘Join the club.’

‘God, I hope not. Not yet anyway!’

They both laughed. ‘Even though I really wanted a baby one day, I hadn’t planned for it to happen like this. It’s like one of those bad dreams where you think you’ve got to do your exams again and you haven’t done any revision. Only worse. Much worse.’

Molly laughed. ‘I’m sorry but that does sound horrifying. I’ll do everything I can to help, in my useless way. I’ll never forget the way you helped me through A levels and uni. Even when I was an arsey little cow, you were there for me.’

‘I’m glad you remember being arsey,’ said Sarah, smiling. ‘But you don’t owe me anything. I did it because I wanted to and Mum and Dad would have wanted me to. This is totally different. You can’t wave your magic wand over me or magic up a solution this time. Neither of us can.’

Sarah shoved a clump of croissant in her mouth to distract herself then thought, almonds? Was she allowed those?

‘Have you told Niall yet?’ Molly asked. ‘Even though you hate him right now, and I don’t blame you, hon, he needs to know. After all he was responsible for fifty per cent of it. Although that’s not quite true – Niall’s will be more like forty-nine-point nine per cent because you’ll pass on the mitochondrial DNA, of course … that’s Mum’s DNA too, and Gran’s and our great-grandma’s …’

Molly’s voice tailed off. Sarah knew what she was thinking; she didn’t have to ask. How much their parents would have loved to share this moment; how proud and thrilled and angry and hurt they would have been, all at once. Molly stared into her mug, avoiding Sarah’s eyes, probably, not wanting to see her own grief reflected. Neither of them dared share what they were thinking about their parents. The news about Niall and the baby had brought the loss so near the surface for both of them all over again. It wouldn’t take much, Sarah knew, for them to start bawling the café down.

‘Is the cheating little toe rag still staying at his mum’s?’ Molly asked eventually. Her voice was tight and fierce.

Even with a mouthful of tears and croissant, Sarah managed a brief smile at Molly’s sisterly loyalty. She didn’t fancy Ni’s chances if he walked into the café at this particular moment. She could well imagine him pinned on a specimen board like some helpless insect. Sarah found that idea quite comforting.

‘He’s tried to call me. At least ten times in fact and um, he left me a message … He wants me to meet him. He says he’s “eaten up with guilt” and wants to know if I could ever forgive him.’

‘What? No way!’ Molly burst out.

Sarah cringed as diners at the nearby tables stared at them.

Molly glared back and they quickly looked away.

‘Sorry, Sarah, but how dare he ask you that. You’re not going to see him, are you? Or get back with him?’

‘Of course not. What do you think I am? I haven’t even answered his calls yet. I don’t trust myself, but I will have to speak to him sometime, even if I’d rather never see the slimeball again.’

‘I know, I know …’ said Molly glumly. ‘I suppose you’re right. You will have to tell him about the baby. He is the father and you can’t do this alone.’

You can’t do this alone. Sarah was stung by the statement, even though Molly was right. ‘Why not?’ she said slowly. ‘In fact, why does he have to be involved at all? He’s forfeited the right and thousands of women bring up families on their own.’

‘I – well, I guess there’s no reason …’ Molly said warily. Sarah realised her sister was trying desperately not to upset her. ‘You’re independent and I know you’ll cope brilliantly, but surely, he ought to take the rap for his part in it? He definitely ought to give you financial support.’

Sarah knew that Molly was right but doing what was right wasn’t high on her list of priorities. She was drowning in a morass of confusing emotions. Anger and grief, excitement over the baby despite everything. The whole thing was completely overwhelming and even though she knew she wasn’t thinking logically, she didn’t care. ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘But I can’t face it yet. Before I tell him, I need to get used to the fact I’m going to be a mother first.’

Molly left her with a huge hug and they went their separate ways. By the time Sarah got back to the cottage, the answerphone was beeping with four messages. Sod it, she had





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