Читать книгу The Years of Loving You - Ella Harper - Страница 8

‘Who’s that girl, Middleford?’ Ed Sutherland nudged his best friend.

‘Keep your hair on. You nearly made me upend my glass of Tatt,’ Middleford, otherwise known as Boyd, huffed.

Ed eyed him fondly. Boyd was such a nobber. ‘It’s Taittinger, as you well know. And you don’t have to drink it. I’ve managed to get through the entire evening without touching a drop.’ He held up his glass of beer with some pride.

‘That’s because it’s not your mother hosting this event, is it?’ Boyd went cross-eyed for no apparent reason. ‘She likes me to drink champagne. Says it shows breeding.’

Ed gave Boyd an indulgent punch on the arm. ‘Your family own this massive house on the coast,’ Ed gestured outside, ‘and you have a coat of arms, for feck’s sakes. No one could possibly doubt that you’re a toff.’

‘Oh, piss off. You’re lucky you’re even here, you know. My mother thinks you’re a bad influence. And she says there’s something dodgy about you.’

Ed fingered the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. Boyd had no idea how astute his mother was. In the first instance, Ed had learnt that mothers fell into one of two camps as far as he was concerned. Camp one (of which Boyd’s mother was the archetypal, fully paid-up member) took the view that he was dangerous, a bad boy. Someone liable to lead their son – or more likely, daughter – astray.

Camp two saw him as a plaything and as such, flirted with him. Outrageously. On occasion members of camp two had been known to proposition him, despite his tender age of seventeen (just). Ed had succumbed once to such a proposition, mainly because the mother had been astonishingly beautiful and because Ed was sure she would teach him a thing or two. He hadn’t been wrong about that, but he hadn’t expected the stalker-ish behaviour that had followed the liaison. He had been forced to sever all ties with the friend simply to avoid the mother. Lessons learnt.

Ed edged a cigarette out of the packet and put it in his mouth. He couldn’t exactly blame camp one for being wary of him. He was a bad boy, in the mildest of forms. And frankly it was an image he cultivated. Like many of the macho heroes he admired, Ed loved drinking, smoking and women. Especially women. Or in his case, they tended to come under the banner of ‘girls’. He loved the way they looked, the way they smelt, the swell of their chests, their long, smooth legs. Their full mouths, their beautiful eyes looking at him with appreciation, or sometimes trepidation. Ed easily dealt with either response; the former fed his ego, the latter presented a challenge.

But Mrs Middleford had also worked out that there was something ‘dodgy’ about him – a very upper-class way of stating that he didn’t fit in somehow, that her social antennae had detected a mismatch. Ed made a mental note to keep an eye on that. He could do without his secrets being revealed just as he was about to leave the school he had worked so hard to get into. He had promoted an enigmatic image for himself, one that hid his real background and, as such, he deliberately kept his friends and his home life firmly separate. Ed never took friends home. He had done it once, with disastrous results. Again, lessons learnt.

Ed cleared his throat and took the cigarette out of his mouth. ‘Anyway, Middleford, pay attention. I’ve seen a girl I like. She’s gorgeous and I want to talk to her. I need her name and some background details, please.’

Boyd let out a sigh of resignation but narrowed his eyes nonetheless. ‘Which one is it? Not Gaby, surely? She’s a friend of my sister’s. Her nickname is “Vacuum”, which probably makes you even more excited, but I wouldn’t touch her with yours, quite frankly …’

‘Not Gaby. As if, Boyd.’ Ed knew exactly how Gaby had earned her nickname. ‘No, that one over by the window. The one with eyes I could drown in and a body like the Venus de Milo.’

Boyd frowned. ‘God, you are a massive tit. I know you want to be a writer, but honestly. Do you mean that one with the terrible hair?’

Ed rolled his eyes. The long, wild tangle of mousy curls conjured up thoughts of bare backs and exquisite shoulders, surely? Boyd, a sturdy, unimaginative fellow at the best of times, truly lacked vision.

‘I think she’s called Molly,’ Boyd offered finally. ‘Molly … Wilkes. Yes. Her mother is an old school friend of my mother’s. Father’s an Oxford Don. Older brother. Tom, perhaps. Successful architect. Ummm …’

‘That’ll do. Good work, Boyd. You are a veritable goldmine.’

Ed headed straight for the window as the girl called Molly slipped outside. He followed her, knowing he had the perfect excuse in his hand should he need it; a sneaky fag was useful in so many ways. As a result, he was taken aback when Molly turned and eyed him suspiciously.

‘Are you following me?’

Ed lit his cigarette suavely but spoilt it by almost burning his fingers when he snapped his Zippo shut. ‘Shit. Er, might be. Molly, isn’t it?’

‘You know my name.’ She raised her eyebrows in a ladylike fashion. He was handsome. And he knew it. She wasn’t sure if she liked that. Obviously Molly understood that everyone had a mirror – it was more that she preferred confidence that came from achievement, not looks. ‘You’re following me and you know my name. There are laws against that, you know.’

‘I’m having an innocent cigarette and a friend told me your name just now. Hardly grounds for arrest, surely? I’m Ed, by the way.’

‘Hi. I’d tell you my name but clearly you already know me.’

Close up, Ed found himself drawn to Molly’s eyes. They were cat-like, shrewd. Brown. No, dark blue – an unusual shade that no doubt earned her compliments aplenty. From lesser mortals. Ed would need to come up with something more original. This was a smart, eloquent girl who looked as though she might, with impeccable manners, coolly dismiss boys who bored her.

Ed sucked on his cigarette, feeling something spark inside him. He was tired of easy girls; Molly was already challenging him.

Out of the blue, Molly smiled. Was she mocking him? Ed felt unnerved, wrong-footed. He really needed to get a grip.

‘I’m not planning to get you arrested, no.’ God, but he was sexy. Molly checked out his mouth. Kissable, definitely. Hmm. How annoying. She hadn’t felt this attracted to someone at first glance before. Was this what everyone called ‘chemistry’?

Molly pulled herself together and gestured to his singed fingers. ‘But I do think you need to learn how to use a lighter properly. Otherwise everyone will think you’re a right nobber.’

Ed let out a shout of laughter. He’d never met anyone else who used his favourite insult before. He stared at Molly. She was on the short side but perfectly proportioned. She had that irresistible blend of slender, with tantalising curves in all the right places. Ed was willing to bet Molly worried about the size of her bum constantly. Molly might be a challenge, but he was confident he knew how her mind worked. To a degree. Because Ed could modestly acknowledge that he knew a fair amount about girls. He caught sight of her bum as she began to walk away from him and almost dropped his cigarette. Delectable. Rounded. Ripe. Bloody hell. Better than he’d imagined. Hang on; where was she going?

‘I’m off to do some stargazing,’ Molly said, as though she had heard his thoughts. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t looking at her bum. She always worried about it, stressed that it was a little on the large side. ‘I think if you carry on walking in that direction, you get to the beach, right?’ She began strolling but threw a glance over her shoulder. ‘Aren’t you coming, shadow?’

Ed watched her. It wasn’t his style to chase after a girl like some sort of lap dog, but Molly was intriguing. He had a feeling about her. Whatever that meant. Ed threw his cigarette down and hurried after her, slowing his steps when he realised what a dick he must look.

Act casual, dude, he told himself sternly. She’s just a girl.

Molly kicked her shoes off at the edge of the beach and carried on walking. She was glad Ed had followed her. She would have looked like a right idiot strolling off on her own. She would have followed it through for an indeterminate period of time, of course, so as not to look even more absurd – and being on a beach wasn’t exactly a hardship – but she would have felt downright silly. She gestured to an area of sand edged by long grass. ‘This looks good. What do you reckon?’

‘Well, wherever we sit will mean sand up our—’ Ed stopped. He wasn’t sure Molly would be impressed with talk of ‘cracks’. That was the sort of conversation he and Boyd might have. Ed squinted up at the sky, his mind rapidly flicking through some pages from … what, Geography? He flipped through his memory banks until he fell upon ‘Constellations’. Ah, yes. A number of them popped into his head, complete with names, historical references and relative chance of visibility. The Late Latin meaning of ‘constellation’ was ‘set with stars’; Ed had always found that kind of romantic. He’d been blessed with a photographic memory of sorts. A valuable tool when it came to passing exams (Ed hoped to sail through his GCSEs). And when it came to impressing girls, a memory like his was invaluable.

‘It’s perfect,’ Ed said, meeting Molly’s eyes. ‘The perfect spot for this. You. Me. Us.’

‘Oh, you’re good. Really good.’ She laughed but gave him a look he couldn’t fathom. Was she impressed? Did she find him amusing? Did she like him?

Molly flopped down on the sand and threw her arms above her head. ‘Seriously. I’ll probably fall in love with you if you carry on like that. Won’t be able to help myself.’ She was a bit concerned at the way her heart was racing. He had only looked at her and made a corny comment!

Don’t be silly, Molly, she told herself sternly. He’s just a boy.

Ed was transfixed. The way she had thrown herself down like that suggested confidence but there was a softness to her that took the edge off both her mannerisms and her comments. There was no malice present in her tone, just delight and enjoyment at the banter. He found himself staring at her bare legs, at the way they twisted together. It hit him in the groin somewhat, the sensual way her limbs moved and flowed.

God. Ed frowned. Boyd was right. He was a great big tit.

Molly lay back and closed her eyes, giving him the chance to continue his study of her. He noted that she wore several silver rings on her fingers – an assortment of slim, decorated bands. Her ears were studded with little sparkly earrings all the way from the lobe to the top, which lent her an air of bohemia. He wondered if she had a tattoo hidden away somewhere, and felt a strong urge to find out. Maybe she didn’t; like him, she was only sixteen, maybe seventeen. Ed lay down next to her, wondering about his next move. She was different. So he needed to be different.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me about constellations and stuff?’ Molly asked, turning her head towards his. He was doing an awful lot of staring. She was flattered, but she did worry that he was dissecting her looks too much. She wasn’t a girl who cared overly about her appearance, not like some of her friends. She liked to look good but as soon as she was dressed, she was off and she didn’t spare it another thought. ‘Go on. Tell me about constellations.’

‘As if. How naff would that be?’

Molly laughed. ‘So naff.’

Ed inhaled. He could smell her perfume and her hair. He felt an irrational urge to bury his face in her neck but he yanked himself back into line. He reminded himself that Molly was simply a girl. And that he knew tons of girls. If this one didn’t like him, he could quite simply – and easily – find another who did. Yes. Except that, even at his young age, he had figured out that some girls were special and that some just weren’t. Damn Molly for being beyond special.

‘They are awesome though, aren’t they?’ Molly pointed. One of them might as well get some constellations named. ‘I mean, look at that. That’s Cassiopeia, that is. From the Perseus family.’

‘Is it?’ Ed squinted up at the sky, captivated. ‘You’re very knowledgeable about this stuff. Ha. You just told me about constellations.’

‘Aah, but I swot up deliberately to impress boys.’

He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Are you laughing at me again?’

‘Yes.’ She matched his stance, the pose bringing her face close to his. What a beautiful face he had. She found him both fascinating and hellishly attractive. How very dangerous. Molly wasn’t used to being knocked sideways by a boy. So far – and her experience was reasonably limited – she had always been in charge, had always been the one calling the shots. She was a virgin but she wouldn’t dream of telling Ed that. She could tell just by looking at him that he had slept with tons of girls. Which made her feel slightly queasy, but she knew she could hardly judge him for whatever he had done up until now. And boys always did stuff like that.

Molly wondered why she had gone quiet. She rarely went quiet. She forced herself to say something. ‘I love stargazing. Pretentious though, isn’t it?’

Ed wasn’t interested in the stars. He was interested in Molly. He studied her. What a heavenly face. Those eyes … slanted, penetrating. A full mouth. Lips he wanted to kiss. Sublime cheekbones, a scar on her chin – a childhood injury? – that prevented her from being conventionally good-looking. Attractive, certainly, but not in an obvious way. Which fascinated him. Molly had a face Ed was suddenly sure he would never tire of looking at.

‘So, Ed. What are you going to do with your life?’ Molly bestowed a lovely smile upon him that sent him all over the show. ‘Aspirations, dreams, all that stuff?’

‘You’ll laugh at me again.’

‘I really won’t. I want to know. Genuinely.’ She moved her bare arm next to his, her hair trailing across his shoulder. He had nice skin. He smelt nice. Basic things, but they were doing less than basic things to various, critical parts of her body.

Ed wasn’t sure how on earth he was supposed to concentrate with her bare arm leaning against him that way, but he steeled himself. ‘I want to be a writer.’

‘Really?’ She was interested now and it showed. ‘What kind?’

‘The best kind. Well, in my view. I want to write novels that people talk about. Novels that move people in some way.’

‘That’s ace. I love reading. I’m always reading. Well, apart from in the middle of the night, obviously. Although sometimes I am. And my father is … well, he’s an Oxford Don.’

‘Is he now?’ Ed played dumb. ‘Now that really is ace.’

Molly flipped over on to her front, brushing sand from her hands. ‘I imagined you might want to be an actor or something. Looking like that.’

‘Like what?’ He turned over as well but moved his head closer to hers. ‘Do you fancy me? Am I handsome?’

‘Good grief. You’re so arrogant!’ She shook her head and her curls whipped his face. ‘You’re just really confident. I thought acting might be your bag. Playing on your ego and all that.’

‘I’m a man of words,’ Ed stated pompously. God, but he sounded like a wanker. He carried on, regardless. In for a penny and all that. ‘I love words. They’re my life, my passion. I plan to be very successful at it. You’d call it arrogance, I’m sure.’ He grinned. ‘What about you? What’s your passion?’

‘Art. I want to be an artist. A great, great artist.’ Molly ducked her head, feeling embarrassed. ‘Now I sound arrogant. But anyway. Uni is the plan. Lincoln,maybe.’

‘No way!’ Ed grinned. ‘That’s where I want to go. We could end up at the same uni! Imagine.’

‘Gosh. We might have to talk to one another every day.’

Molly smiled again and Ed felt something expand in his chest. And in his groin. Shit. Could he be any more uncool? He just hoped he was hiding his ardour. Being on his front might start feeling uncomfortable soon.

‘Tell me about your art,’ he said, desperately trying to quell his urges.

Molly hadn’t noticed his ‘urges’. If she had, she might have felt better about what happened later. Instead, she obliged. She waxed lyrical about art for a long time and he managed to join in, despite not knowing an awful lot about the subject. But he liked hearing Molly talk about it – she was passionate, enthused. And that made him want to talk about it as well. After a while, they moved on to novels. They talked about childhood books, about classic literature and about their favourite writers. They discussed Oscar Wilde (consensus: ‘nothing short of a fucking genius’), Shakespeare (‘I call him Willy Shakes,’ Ed told Molly. ‘It’s affectionate.’ ‘It’s rude,’ she retorted, but she laughed accordingly) and they dissected the works of Thomas Hardy (reaching a mutual agreement of ‘turgid’). They talked about universities, about friends, about life and about love. They talked a lot about love – what they thought it was, what it should be, if they had experienced it (Molly, yes – Ed, no) and how long it lasted in general. They talked and talked and talked. For six hours straight.

‘We’ve talked for six hours straight,’ Ed commented, glancing at his watch. ‘I am covered in sand; it’s in my hair and everything. And instead of stars providing light and brilliance, we are clothed in early morning sunshine.’

‘“Instead of the stars providing light and brilliance”. Oh, I like that.’ Molly sat up and yawned. ‘Six hours? I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone for six hours in my life.’

In fact she knew she hadn’t. And they had barely paused for breath. It was astonishing. She hadn’t noticed the time and if she had, she might not have cared, even though she was due home and her parents were probably worried sick. Even though she had never done anything like this in her life before. Molly shook sand from her curls.

‘I am a bit special,’ Ed answered. Molly had sand in her hair and goose-bumps all over her arms. And she looked stunning. Just beautiful.

‘Special needs more like,’ Molly chided. ‘Christ. I’ve caught your crap joke disease. Hey, what’s Ed short for? Edmund … Edward …?’

He frowned. He was rarely asked that question. ‘It’s just Ed.’

‘What, you came out and your mother said “That baby looks just like an Ed.”’

‘She did, actually.’

‘Liar.’

‘For fuck’s sakes.’ Ed gave Molly a sheepish smile. ‘Ok then. Ed is short for Edison. Go on. Laugh yourself silly.’

She considered him. ‘Edison. That’s not so bad. Original at least.’

‘Yeah. Original is right. Downright mortifying is the other way to look at it.’

She grinned. ‘You can carry it off. You’re cool enough.’

‘Oooh. Careful, Molly. That right there was a compliment.’

‘Goddammit. You’re right. Forgive me, Edison. Won’t happen again.’

Ed could practically hear the barely contained chuckle she was withholding and for some reason, it made him want to gather her up and do … something. She had her knees drawn to her chest, her arms clasping them, her chin resting atop her arms. It was a wistful pose. Appealing. Everything about her was appealing.

She turned as though feeling his eyes on her. His glorious mouth tilted into a smile. Molly realised she wanted to know everything about Edison. Everything. She knew an awful lot after their in-depth chat, but she had this strange feeling that however much she found out, she might never be able to find out enough.

‘Are you a romantic, Ed?’

‘A what?’

‘A romantic. Are you one of those types?’

‘I’m what I call a dirty romantic. Does that count?’ He laughed self-consciously. ‘Might sound a bit rude. I just mean I’m a romantic, but I try not to be too flowery about it, you know? So I do love romantic novels and all that. If I’m being honest, and I am, Romeo and Juliet is my favourite play by Willy Shakes. And I found E.M. Forster’s A Room with a View achingly romantic,’ he added earnestly. ‘But don’t tell anyone. Dirty, but yes. Romantic. I suppose I am.’

‘Ok, so a dirty romantic then. Oh, I like that. I like that a lot, Edison. You are full of surprises.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I like being surprised.’

So did Ed. And he liked her calling him Edison. For no real reason other than that it was her doing it. Without another coherent thought, Ed took the back of her neck in his hand and drew her in. Within seconds his mouth had met hers. Gently. God. Her lips were exquisite, soft and full. They met his willingly. Ed experienced sensory overload; the scent of her hair, the perfume wafting from her neck, the taste of the fruity cocktail she’d been drinking hours ago, her mouth, her ripe, but somehow delicate mouth.

Molly put her hands on his face and Ed felt a shiver. He felt her rings, cold against his skin, but her palms were warm and soft. She kissed him more ardently, her tongue searching his out. A bolt of lust shot through Ed and he fought to restrain himself from hurling her to the sand and taking her.

Control yourself, Edison, he berated himself. He had kissed countless girls. Countless. But Molly was rocking his world and he had no idea how or why. Yes, her hands were delving into his hair. Yes, her fingertips were stroking his scalp. Yes, it was exquisite. More exquisite than he could articulate. That was the thing; he simply couldn’t pinpoint what it was she was doing that made this all so incredible. It was everything put together.

Molly kissed him again. Yep. There it was. A shot of something bouncing all around her body, pinging off of every angle. Tingles, bursts, sparks. What the hell was happening to her? She was in danger of doing something really foolish in a second. She wanted to do other things, things she normally stopped herself doing to boys. Things she didn’t normally think about when she kissed boys, but that she knew might be expected.

And though Molly was a ‘good girl’, she had kissed rather a lot of boys. Often in place of sleeping with them. Which made her an aficionado in some ways. And Ed was a good kisser. A very good kisser. The kind that made Molly want to lose control of herself.

Ed luxuriated in the feel of those lips on his skin. It was romantic, yet erotic. Her hands were sliding under his shirt and he could barely stand it. He rolled on top of her, needing to regain control. His arms were around her and he could feel the warmth of her skin through her clothes. He smoothed her hair away from her face, gazing into her eyes. They were alert but slightly glazed.

Molly met Ed’s eyes. Was her lust for him obvious? She wasn’t sure she could do anything to control the emotions and desires being reflected in her eyes.

Ed fell headlong into them. Headlong. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her again, groping for the feeling it gave him. Yes. There it was again; he wasn’t mistaken. It was like coming home. A comfortable newness. No. That made it sound too cosy. It wasn’t. It was an excitement that felt so right, it was bloody mind-blowing. Ed owned that feeling. He wanted her. Badly.

‘I want you,’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘Badly.’

How did she seem to know what he was thinking? It was like half starting a sentence and her finishing it, but it was even spookier than that because she was in his thoughts.

Christ, he’d be going all Wuthering Heights in a minute.

Edison, he said to himself, smiling slightly as he remembered Molly’s comments about his name, do rein yourself in. She is just a girl. This is just a kiss.

It was just a kiss, right?

Molly coiled a leg around his, drawing his body to hers. Their groins were crushed together, hard against soft, hot against hot. And it felt right. They rolled again. She was on top of him, her chest squashed against his. His breath smelt sweet as she found his mouth again. He felt amazing against her. Amazing. Molly was falling. She was bloody well falling.

Ed sank a hand into her hair, claiming her. Kissing her. Owning her. But wait. He needed to take a minute. More than a minute. This was spiralling out of control. He was out of control. He was in danger of being … inelegant. He was also aware that he was in danger of being completely and utterly done for if this went any further. But he wanted it to go further.

Molly took advantage of the pause to collect her thoughts. Something huge was going on and she didn’t know how to control it. ‘I … I think you’re going to be … very important in my life,’ she said, feeling the need to put some kind of label or description on what was happening. Her father always told her she over-analysed. ‘Does that sound weird? It sounds weird. Sorry about that.’

‘Important in your life?’ Ed drew back. With an effort that was so monumental, it felt akin to unsticking something tightly glued together. ‘How so?’

‘I don’t know.’ She met his eyes. ‘But … you are … this feels …’ She faltered. ‘It’s just me. You’re not thinking that …’

Ed said nothing. And cursed himself. It wasn’t just her. He did feel something. He didn’t know what, but something had just happened. The earth hadn’t exactly moved but Ed’s life had surely just shifted on its axis. Molly had rendered him dumb. Another first.

‘Right.’ Molly sat up a bit and slowly rubbed her hands together. Mostly to dust the sand off them. Also to give her a moment to think. ‘What I mean is … I don’t mean we’re going to run off into the sunset together or anything. I mean maybe, but not now. I just think we seem to have some sort of connection. It’s like … I think I sometimes know what you’re thinking, what you’re about to say.’

‘Am I that predictable?’ Ed frowned. He hated being predictable. But at least his mouth was working again.

‘No. Not remotely. That’s what I mean.’ Molly looked unnerved. ‘There’s just something between us. Something a bit … freaky.’

‘I guess so.’ Ed knew so, but saying that would make him feel far too vulnerable. ‘Maybe we’re going to be friends?’ He offered this as a question, testing the waters. He wanted more, far more. Perhaps not right now. Perhaps he meant later, when he’d grown up a bit. But what did Molly mean?

Her eyes were fixed on his and just for a second, he sensed a glimmer of disappointment. But it was fleeting.

‘Friends,’ Molly repeated. She was trying it out, seeing how it sounded. She wasn’t sure if she felt somewhat disappointed. She had felt something far, far deeper than mere friendship surging between them.

But Molly was a dignified girl; she hated looking silly. ‘I suppose we could be that. Yes. Good friends. Why not?’

Ed battled with himself. It was more. What had sparked between them was more. It was … oh, fuck. Had he been about to mentally use the expression ‘soulmates’? Did he even believe in soulmates? Something had sparked between them, like a firework that had been inadvertently lit in a room, bouncing off the walls crazily, leaving delicious little scorch marks everywhere.

Ed swallowed. Could it be that true love malarkey people always banged on about? Had he and Molly got really, really lucky and at a very young age found that thing that people sometimes searched their entire lives for? Or was that just romantic nonsense for losers? He was seventeen, for fuck’s sakes.

Ed released Molly and sat up. He wasn’t ready to meet the love of his life yet. If that was indeed what had just happened. He had too much to do. He had responsibilities; he had an impossible home life. He was going to try with everything he had to become a great writer, and writers needed experiences. What the hell would he write about otherwise? He was surely destined to love many women. Hundreds. He wanted to travel, to see the world, to experience everything life had to offer. If they started something now, he might hurt her. He would hurt her. And Ed didn’t want to do that.

He looked down at Molly. God, but she was beautiful. And sexy. In that girl-next-door way that made him want to both cuddle her and tear her clothes off. He had the urge to inhale her neck, to breathe her in, to consume her, to allow her to consume him. She was different to anyone he had ever met before. He felt a connection with her he simply couldn’t explain. He knew she felt it too.

So what was stopping him?

Molly sat up, leaning against him casually as if she was perfectly fine with everything. It was a knack she had, appearing fine. A useful skill that allowed her to rise above situations that had hurt her in some way. She had learnt it at a very young age when her brother had blackmailed her shamelessly after she broke the foot off an expensive china doll. She had behaved as though she was completely unmoved by the event and her brother had given up because her lack of reaction had presumably been tedious. More recently she had honed her technique when a girlfriend had done the dirty on her with a guy she had really liked. In both cases, she had been distraught, but she had developed a way of appearing haughtily indifferent. A handy gift, that.

The thing was; she had never spoken to a guy for this long before. She had never shared so many intimate details of her life. Molly felt exposed, vulnerable. She had trusted Ed – she still did, oddly – and letting her guard down had actually felt good.

Ed put his arm around her; it was involuntary. He couldn’t seem to be this close to her without touching her, wanting to coil her into his body. He had never felt so confused in his life.

Molly leant into him. He crushed her a little, but it felt so right to be held by him, she couldn’t find it in herself to pull away. She knew if she was dealing with another boy right now she would stand up, disdainfully look down at him before marching off, vowing never to speak to him again. But for some reason, Molly knew she wouldn’t do that with Ed. Because he was different. Because she somehow felt able to forgive him for hurting her when she wouldn’t allow it from someone else. Even if she didn’t quite understand why.

‘The thing you need to know about me is that I am always classy, Edison,’ Molly said, before he could say anything. She sensed – although she had no idea where this sixth sense came from – that he was about to justify himself, to excuse the way he had behaved. He’d acted as though he wanted her more than anything, before backing off like a frightened rabbit. She had to get in first, before he – this boy who seemed so incredibly sensitive, so eloquent and full of thought – said something thoughtless and deeply insensitive. Molly feared he was capable of such a thing, that despite declaring himself a ‘girl’, Ed was very much a male of the species.

‘Classy?’ Ed was confused.

‘Maybe classy isn’t the right word. Dignified, perhaps? Anyway, I rarely make a prat of myself if I can help it.’ Molly wished his eyes weren’t so devastating. She wanted to dive into them, but it seemed that it was not to be the case. ‘And the other thing you need to know is that I don’t ever chase people. If it’s not mutual, it’s not happening.’ She smiled and she made sure it was a sunny one. ‘So, friends it is.’

Molly then leant forward and kissed Ed on the forehead. On the forehead. But slowly, deliberately.

Ed felt emasculated, put in his place and aroused all at once. It was a tender, non-sexual gesture that positioned him firmly in a box, and, ironically, it made him want her even more. Whatever she was saying she had felt was mutual. It was. It was.

Molly hoped the languid forehead kiss had done the trick. Her friend Sara had taught her that, said it was the best way to arouse a guy (the proximity, the erotically slow action) and to put him right in his place. Molly hated playing games but she detested looking idiotic even more. Her mother always said her pride would get her into trouble one day.

Ed inwardly groaned. That kiss on the forehead. It had sealed his fate. Jesus. What had he just done? Molly was the most incredible girl he had ever met. The feeling he’d had when he first set eyes on her had been spot on. She was special. He didn’t want anyone else to have her. Would he ever have this moment back again?

Molly got to her feet, grabbed his hand and clumsily yanked him up. ‘Come on,’ she said. She found herself grinning in a totally spontaneous way. Whether he fancied her or not, Edison made her feel happy. ‘We should go home.’