Читать книгу Love is the Drug - Ashley Croft - Страница 10

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 Anastasia might be a bit fluffy for this event 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?’