‘Ty doesn’t live in London, smarty pants. And I’m not calling him to change an effing light bulb. Electrician course, remember?’ Evie groaned, reaching up on her tiptoes, ‘I can do it.’
‘Did Esme seem okay this morning? We had words last night,’ Mollie leaned on the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her friend’s dark curls shake as she wobbled on the ladder.
‘She wants you to date her friend’s dad.’
‘She said the other kids are being mean because she doesn’t have a dad, do you think I need to report it to the school or something?’
Evie twitched her lips, ‘Um... not really qualified to give an opinion here, babe. I mean, in Badgeley maybe ten kids in the year had their dads on the scene. You’d be more likely to be bullied for having one.’
‘So, I should let my kid be bullied because I wasn’t quick enough to go out and get her a stepdad?’ Mollie winced, shaking her head.
‘Oh leave off, you are joking? You have raised that kid in spite of Linda, in spite of your age, your situation and being alone. You have done an amazing job. Esme is stronger than any of that bullshit. I think maybe she just wants to make sure you’re happy. She wants you to have your happy ending, it’s simple as that.’
‘Yeah,’ Mollie shrugged, ‘maybe.’
‘Definitely.’
Mollie took a deep breath, tightened her ponytail and clapped her hands, ‘So, today, what’s the timescale?’
‘You’re in the kitchen, being awesome. By the way, I made sure your flyers for the Mollie Makes... workshop were sped up, they’ll be here this afternoon, so you can put them out on the sides. Hopefully we’ll get some interest from your TV performance this morning. The photographer from the Journal will be here about five, then the drama group. Kick off around seven.’
‘I love that you’re more organised than you look.’
‘Heart surgery looks like murder halfway through. Plus, the timeline is on the whiteboard in the conservatory. Just remember to take the delivery for the flyers, they never seem to find the entrance, no matter how much I explain the massive red door.’
‘I’ll leave it open, probably better whilst I’m making hundreds of canapes anyway,’ Mollie nodded.
‘And Killian’s going to pick up Esme in the van today, then drop her off before heading off to deliver his day bed.’
Mollie nodded, suddenly so grateful for all these people and how they had become involved in her and her daughter’s life. She hadn’t done this alone at all. She had more support than a nuclear family. She couldn’t be bitter. She could just be pissed off at those dickhead eleven-year-olds.
And maybe have a glass of wine with Max. Obnoxious, older, but slightly alluring Max. But all of that could wait until the pastry cases were fully cooked.
Mollie had her cooking habits, her creative habits, the same as the others. Some weeks Chelsea didn’t say anything, she just turned up at the studio, walked into the conservatory and put on some jazzy hip hop. Mollie would sometimes watch her dance from the kitchen, how her friend seemed to suddenly take up so much more space, she stretched and breathed life back into herself. Evie blared eighties rock from the back room before launching herself at a canvas like it was a lifeline, moving desperately and angrily until she let out whatever was inside. And Mollie was different again. She went into a zen state, smooth and simple with the Beatles playing on the speaker system, a little dance as she moved from the trays in the kitchen, back to the oven.
Time passed in a way it didn’t with anything else, when Mollie was cooking. She felt like everything else stopped and all that mattered were shapes, temperatures, smells, textures... things that could be seen and felt and tasted. Things that were obvious. The Beatles sang ‘Here comes the sun’ and she heard herself singing along, believing them as they said, ‘It’s all right...’
‘Hello?’
A voice echoed from the studio front door, and Mollie yelped, turning down the music. The poster delivery guy.
‘In here, door’s open!’
She wiped off her hands, but the buzzer started going for the mini quiches, so she grabbed her polka dot oven mitts and grabbed the tray, poking her head around the door to catch the delivery guy.
It was at that moment, wearing her Wonder Woman apron, with flour smeared on her cheeks, that Mollie dropped a tray of mini quiches, and realised she was staring at Jamie MacAllister.
***
‘Look, nothing has to change for you,’ Mollie said resolutely, hand on Jamie’s arm. His face was pale and he seemed to look past her, his eyes glassy and vacant. She scanned his features for anger, sadness, indifference. He was blank, but for the shock. Perhaps just the littlest bit of wonder creeping in around the edges. But maybe she was just being hopeful.
‘What?’
‘Your life can go on. I won’t resent you. It’s my choice. Go to uni, come back at weekends... if you want to, I mean... I’m just saying, this doesn’t have to be your problem. This can be my problem.’
His eyes widened and he saw her fully then. She recognised that emotion, definitely. Anger.
‘Molls, how long have we known each other?’
‘Since Year Four when you poured that PVA glue over my head and the teacher had to cut some of my hair off.’ She blinked, ‘So?’
‘You’ve known me longer than most people and you still had me down as the drop-out deadbeat dad? The weekender? Come on babe, that hurts. Thought you were better than that.’
‘You shouldn’t have to–’
‘Be responsible for you? For us? For what we’ve done and what we do?’ Jamie tugged at his hair desperately, shaking his head, ‘Why do you have to be responsible? Why don’t you get the choice?’
His jaw was clenched and she watched as he physically stilled himself to hear her answer. Mollie looked down at the rickety park bench that had been there forever, the middle slat missing, and the clear etchings of ‘J Luvs M’ on the back, top left, just part of the scenery.
‘I do get the choice,’ Mollie said simply, ‘that’s the point. I choose whether I keep it. I choose what happens to my body, and what lives in it. And I make the sacrifices that come with that choice. Because I’m going on gut instinct. I can’t defend it. I know it’s not the smart choice, it’s not the choice either of us need to make right now, and I’m making our lives more complicated FOREVER. But I feel... pulled, like a magnet. And you don’t get to have a choice – I’m having this baby. So I’m saying I get that it’s not fair and you shouldn’t be forced into anything.’
Jamie growled, frustrated, and crouched on the floor, looking up at Mollie on the bench, desperately trying to catch her eye, even though she was refusing to look at him. Her bottom lip was trembling and she didn’t look up.
‘Molls, if there’s a little person in this world with your eyes and smile, and my stupid hair and loud laugh, I can’t not know them. I can’t not be there. So don’t ask me again.’
His eyes were soft, light as he swivelled even further, trying to catch her eye and eventually succeeding. He smiled, stroked her cheek and Mollie promptly burst into tears.
‘Why are you always so bloody NICE, you bastard!’ Mollie howled, burying her face in her hands, ‘It’s not fair! Whenever I plan for things, you never do what I expect!’
‘You expected me to go, “Nice one Molls, know I knocked you up and everything, but I really need to try out drinking eight pints of Snakebite at freshers’ week and learning about the French Revolution a bit more. Sorry, catch ya later”? Come on. You didn’t really think it would go down like that.’
Mollie wiped her eyes and laughed, ‘No, but... you’ve got this big life. You’ve got these amazing things you’re meant to do.’
‘So do you,’ He sat back up on the bench next to her, waiting for her to curl into his side and rest her head on his shoulder as she always did. He counted to five before he felt her move, the warmth from her helping him to breathe a little easier, ‘We’ll do amazing things together. With an
amazing little person, who’ll be part of us.’
Mollie sighed, ‘I just... I know you’re trying to be helpful and supportive, but I just...’
He squeezed her hand, ‘What do you need from me?’
Her dark eyes met his fully, and her nails dug into his palm as she squeezed the hand holding hers.
‘I need you to tell me you’re scared.’
Jamie laughed, that big honking laugh, his head back against the bench as the bright summer sky mocked them both, ‘You’re pregnant, we don’t have jobs and we’ve got to tell our parents we’re quitting uni to raise a kid! I’ve never been so fucking terrified in all my life! But we can be terrified together, right? That’s the one good thing about this, Moll – if we’ve got to do something hard and crazy and amazing, I’m glad you’re with me.’
***
Mollie stared at the ghost of the boy she’d once loved, the tray clattering to the floor as her hands shook. She looked at the floor, the mini quiches scattered everywhere, simply mumbling, ‘I’ll get a broom.’
She ran back through into the kitchen and doubled over, her hands clasping the side of the kitchen counter, exhaling shaky breaths desperately.
‘You can deal with this, you can deal with anything,’ Mollie mumbled to herself, over and over until it became something more than words, a hum in time with the beating of her heart.
When she finally stood straight, her shoulders back and her head held high, Mollie was ready to re-enter the room. Well, she wasn’t ready, but as long as she didn’t think, beyond ‘it’s Jamie, it’s Jamie, it’s Jamie,’ things weren’t too bad.
He looked different, she thought as she peered around the door, seeing him on his knees, picking up the pieces of pastry and throwing them back onto the fallen tray. But not that different. His light brown hair was cut short, harshly so, as though he was afraid of the curl that would arise if he let it grow. She remembered plunging her hand through that hair, soft and childlike. So like Esme’s hair when she was little. He was tanned, in that solid, even way that seemed weathered, like he’d been working in fields or outdoors. He’d never seemed like that sort, always a boffin, going off to study history. Or at least, that’s what she assumed had happened, in the end.
He looked up at her, eyes a particularly bright blue that seemed even more vibrant against his tanned skin, and smiled. Mollie almost had to catch her breath, it physically hurt to see him smile like that.
‘It’s really good to see you Molls,’ his voice was deep, a little rough like he hadn’t spoken in a while, but he sounded more well-spoken than he’d ever been. More clipped edges to his words. Why wouldn’t he stop smiling at her? Mollie thought she was going to be sick. She gripped the edge of the doorframe tighter.
‘You look exactly the same,’ he went on, standing up slowly, taking her in, ‘I saw you on the telly this morning, with your baking and that. I heard about Ruby, so I tuned in, and there you were, looking just the same...’ He trailed off, the smile freezing on his face. ‘I mean, I know things ended... well, it wasn’t great, but I was hoping, well... I just wanted to see a friendly face, I’m only back on leave for a little while, and there you were, you know? It felt, sort of... like I had to come. Maybe it was Ruby, sending a sign.’
Mollie stood there, opening her mouth every few moments, and finding nothing there. She looked at him, frustrated with herself for her silence, and then shook her head.
‘Jamie,’ she said softly, ‘Jamie. How, why? I can’t...’
Mollie felt herself crumble, as much as she wanted to remain strong, as much as that voice in her head screamed that he didn’t deserve her tears and that she was so much better than this, all she could hear was, ‘He left. He left you with a child. He promised he’d come back and he left. And now he swans in to see you because he’s lonely. The bastard! The bastard.’
‘Molls, what’s–’
The concern and surprise on his face was real, and he moved towards her, crowding her space as she struggled to breathe and the tears squeaked from her, tracking her face with marks from all that make-up she put on for the interview. She covered her eyes so that she couldn’t see the kindness in his, so much more infuriating.
‘Aren’t you going to ask about her?’ Mollie screeched suddenly, shocking herself. She watched as Jamie retreated, blinking. ‘Aren’t you even going to ask anything about her?’
He frowned, but before he could answer, the door opened once again.
‘Mum! Killian has gone to deliver some furniture, do we have... are you crying?’ Esme rushed over, her arms around her mother’s waist, ‘Are you okay? You never cry!’
Mollie wiped her face and took a deep breath, bending down so that she was face-level with her daughter, ‘That’s not true, baby, remember the beginning of Up? I cried a lot.’
‘Yeah but not...’ Esme turned to face the source of her mother’s discomfort, ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve made my mum cry and I don’t like it, so go away!’
Jamie stepped back, but didn’t take his eyes from her, tracing the outline of her blonde hair, the curve of her lip, the vibrancy of those perfect blue eyes as she glared at him, daring him to question her.
‘How... how old are you?’ Jamie asked, his eyes not daring to move to Mollie’s.
‘Eleven,’ Esme huffed. ‘Are you listening to me? I said you need to go now, and don’t come back!’
‘Eleven?’ he whispered to himself, searching for Mollie’s eyes and holding them once she looked at him, ‘Eleven.’
‘Go! Now!’ Esme roared, and Jamie nodded numbly, moving like a marionette, falling from the studios and out into the light.
Mollie took a deep breath and shook her head. That was not the look of a man who had abandoned his girlfriend and unborn child all those years ago. That was the look of a man who never realised he had a child at all.
Chapter Three
‘So... he just stood there? Like an arsehole?’ Killian frowned as Mollie told the story.
‘What did Esme do?’ Chelsea filled up Mollie’s wine glass, then sat back down. They were sat in the conservatory, with the leftover bottles from the event that evening.
‘She told him that people don’t make her mother cry, and screamed at him to leave,’ Mollie arched an eyebrow and sucked down half the glass in two gulps, holding out for a refill.
‘So he didn’t tell her, or anything?’ Evie frowned, ‘Weird.’
Mollie hesitated, ‘I... I think he didn’t know. The way he looked at her, when he did the maths... I mean, she looks so much like him, those eyes...’
‘The cheekbones and the nose too,’ Evie added, then noticed a pained look on Mollie’s face, ‘Sorry.’
‘Hold on, how could he not know?’ Chelsea rolled her eyes, ‘I call bullshit. He was there when he got you pregnant, he was there when you told him you were pregnant, he was there when he told his parents he wasn’t going to uni, because he was going to raise this kid... did the man get hit in the head with a shovel or what?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mollie shrugged, ‘But I know what I saw. Pure shock. The way I must have looked seeing him, he looked when he saw Esme. There’s no way he knew.’
Evie ruffled her dark curls and looked at Killian, then back at her friend. ‘Molls, I don’t mean this in... I mean... do you think it’s just that you want that to be true? I mean, we all liked Jamie, he always seemed like the good guy, but... you know, here we are... he left without saying anything.’
‘He did say something, didn’t he?’ Chelsea added softly, wincing.
‘He sent me a note, it just said, “I’m sorry,” so...’ Mollie felt her cheeks burn at the humiliation, ‘Look, it’s been a long day, and I really don’t want to talk about the past any more. I just want to sleep.’
She knew as she said it that there would be no sleep for her that night, only memories that would be raked over finely, in detail, rewound and replayed to give a hint of a story, to create an alternative to the story she had so
readily agreed to – that he was a bad guy who had left her. The question now, she assumed, was whether or not he would come back.
***
‘He’s staying with me,’ Mollie said staunchly, arms crossed, chin jutted, ‘We’re going to do this together.’
‘Oh baby girl,’ her mum laughed, hollow and throaty as she poured herself another gin and tonic, heavy on the gin, ‘I thought you were smarter than that. You were the one who was going to university. They don’t stay.’
‘He will, Jamie will. He’s good. He’s promised me.’
Linda laughed again, shaking her head, ‘You don’t sound old enough to raise a baby. You sound like one of those silly princesses from those kids’ stories. This is real life, angel. He’s not your Prince Charming, this isn’t your happy ever after – it’s going to be hard, you know. You don’t know how hard it is.’
‘I know it’s going to be hard, that’s why we’re doing it together. Why do you have to tear everything down and make it awful?’ Mollie pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry in front of her mother, whose blasé attitude since she’d announced her pregnancy was making her crazy. She was sure, in that moment, she actually hated her mother; goading her, taunting her, where was the love and support other people got? Surely, even if she’d screamed at her, shown that she cared in some way, it would have been better.
‘Where is he now, Mollie, huh? Why isn’t he standing here with you?’ Linda’s dark eyes met hers and held them, a small smile in place as she knew the answer.
Be My Baby Page 4
