The Years of Loving You

‘Let’s make spaghetti bolognese,’ Molly slurred in his direction. She stood up, hiccupped and took his hand.

‘What? Why on earth—’

‘I’m hungry. Come on.’

She stepped over Jody – Ed apologetically did the same and received a furious frown in return – and they made their way to the kitchen, Ed following Molly’s weaving motion, mostly because it amused him.

Molly gave Ed orders bossily, demanding that onions were chopped, meat was browned, tins of tomatoes opened. She always got a bit bossy when she was drunk. Hopefully, she thought, Ed found it endearing, the way he found Jody’s pedantic antics ‘endearing’. She dismissed the thought. Even in her drunken state she knew she was being ridiculous.

She gave Ed a half glance. Speaking of endearing. She watched the way he sliced up an onion, his eyes all crinkled up at the corners as he tried to stop them watering all over the place. Molly wished she didn’t find him such good company.

‘I take it I’m sous-chef,’ Ed grumbled, examining a tiny cut on his finger from an onion-related mishap. ‘Ouch, Molls. I’m bleeding.’

‘You’re moaning. And you’re everything-chef, for the record,’ Molly said. She tried to focus on him, but he kept swimming out of her vision for some strange reason. ‘I am in no fit state to wield a knife, my friend. Now the trick with bolognese is to use both pork and steak mince. Did you know this? It’s the best way. The only way.’

Ed spent the next half hour doing as he was told, an unusual state of affairs, but he was not of a mind to resist Molly when she was in domineering mode. Ridiculously, he found it sexy and he couldn’t stop laughing as she waved her arms around in place of actual words and coherent sentences. She did allow him to force a pint of water down her to stave off a hangover, and five minutes later she sashayed off to the bathroom to ‘break the seal’ as she delightfully put it.

Thoroughly distracted by her retreating form, Ed proceeded to drop an entire carton of passata down the front of his jeans.

‘Oh for fuck’s sakes,’ he muttered. His jeans were ruined. Not sure what else to do, he peeled them off. Fuck. He’d gone commando. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was more of a: ‘I haven’t washed any boxers’ thing. He stuffed his jeans into the washing machine and quickly looped an apron over his head to save his dignity.

‘Ed.’ Molly appeared in the doorway, seeming to be gripping it for support. ‘I’m either more pissed than I thought I was or your arse is on show. Have you been like that all night? Surely not. I would have remembered. I know I would have remembered.’

‘Don’t be daft. My jeans … oh, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Nice bum, Edison.’ Molly’s mouth lifted mischievously. ‘Seriously. I had no idea. Hey – is that some sort of invitation?’

‘Begging your pardon?’

‘That. On the apron.’ Molly pointed. She was sobering up fast. But she was also feeling reckless tonight.

Ed glanced down at himself. ‘Snog The Chef’ was emblazoned across the front. He felt his breath quicken, but he reined it in. Of course Molly didn’t mean anything by it. It was just that she rarely flirted. Not with him at any rate. He had watched her charm many a poor bugger practically to his knees without even trying, but she hardly ever directed her flirtation in his direction.

He looked up and pasted an amiable smile on his face. ‘Absolutely. An invitation is exactly what that is.’

‘Gosh.’ Molly made a decision. She tested it out briefly first, as was her way, and it felt right. She was going for it. ‘Rude to turn down an invitation. Right?’

She ambled towards him. Ed felt a rush of lust. Good God. What was happening here? Was she … was Molly going to kiss him? She was mucking about, surely. His head swam. Molly was drunk. Squiffy, at very least. He should not do this. He definitely shouldn’t do this. He had never wanted to do anything so much in his life.

Molly leant against him. She wanted nothing more than to hurl herself at him and snog his face off. But she didn’t want to ruin the moment. If there was about to be a moment. Molly pressed her body up against his, her hands either side of him on the counter. It felt erotic being squashed up against Ed. She could be corny about it and say their bodies slotted together perfectly but – aah, sod it, they actually did.

Ed held his breath. He had never been so turned on in his life. He met Molly’s eyes, surprised to find them attentive and watchful. She put her mouth on his and kissed him. It was a sweet, exquisite kiss that seemed to ricochet around Ed’s body, lighting a billion tiny bulbs along the way. He felt the same sensation as he had the first time; the familiar, thrilling buzz that felt right.

Ed kissed Molly back. How could he not? He took the back of her neck in his hand, angled her mouth to his. It fit perfectly. What was that about? He had kissed many a mouth and sure, all mouths meshed together one way or another. But hers just fit.

‘You’re an annoyingly good kisser, Edison,’ Molly murmured against his mouth. He was. The memories of that first night came rushing back. Molly had kissed guys since Ed – not that he knew about them; discretion was her middle name – but none had made her feel the way he did. She wished that wasn’t the case, but it was. Kissing Ed consumed her with lust. She had fire chasing around her body in the most disturbing places – she wanted to pull his face to hers and kiss him endlessly. Before doing all manner of things she might not have the guts to do with someone else.

‘Being a good kisser is annoying?’

Ed felt Molly’s hands on his bare backside and closed his eyes. Good lord. There was clearly something very wrong with him. He wasn’t used to reacting like this. This is the way he tried to make girls feel. Ed aimed to give a girl the best time he possibly could. He tried to make a girl feel special, to make her feel that something awesome was happening to her. Molly was doing this to him without even trying.

‘Yes, it’s annoying. When it’s you.’ Molly paused and looked at him. His face was so achingly familiar. She wanted to kiss it all over. Slowly. She gave in to the urge. She took her time. She caressed his face as she did so, placing her lips against his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. Molly made sure the kiss to the forehead was a sexy one, a lingering kiss that couldn’t be confused with the dismissive one she had given him a few years ago. She whispered stuff as she kissed his face, moving to his neck to savour the smell of him.

Ed’s groin jerked. Not a twitch – a full-on jerk. The likes of which normally required physical contact of some kind. This one, however, was so sharp it damned near took his breath away. Molly’s mouth on his skin, her hair under his nostrils, her warm body curved around his. It was a sensory-overload situation. But Ed welcomed it. Wanted it, craved it.

‘What is that God awful song?’ Ed said, trying desperately to grasp a moment to rein himself in.

‘What?’

‘That song. What … what is it?’

Molly lifted her head. ‘It’s that one that bangs on about showing someone heaven. Maria thingy. From that film about the cars. NASCAR racing.’

Ed was none the wiser. But it had bought him a moment. Over Molly’s shoulder, he saw Jody standing in the doorway. She shot him a look – shock? Contempt? Loathing? Ed wasn’t sure. But he was fairly certain Jody would never utter another word to him again, unless it was either ‘fucking’ or ‘bastard’. He couldn’t blame her. Why was he such a shit sometimes? Ed forgot about Jody two seconds later when Molly put her mouth to his ear.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she whispered. ‘Right now. I want your hands on me. All over me.’

Ed bit his lip. He was aroused. God, but he was aroused. He could barely see straight. He wanted Molly badly. Badly. Was he taking advantage of her? Could he resist? It wasn’t exactly helping that he only had a ridiculous apron between his desperately rearing manhood and Molly and her warm, lovely skin.

Jeepers alive, how was a man supposed to cope with such a thing? He shouldn’t do this with her. She was drunk, he had to stop this …

‘I’m not drunk,’ she said. Molly could tell Ed was battling with himself, no doubt reminding himself she was drunk, that he was taking advantage of her. She had to stop him thinking that way. ‘I want you. Ok?’

Molly took his hand and led him out of the kitchen. Led him up the stairs, into her bedroom. Her heart was thumping but this was right. It was right.

‘Molly …’ Ed tried to speak but her mouth was upon his again.

‘I want to lose my virginity to you,’ she murmured, kissing him again.

He pulled back, stunned.

Molly went bright red. ‘Jesus. I can’t believe I just said that! What a bloody idiot. I’m ancient and still a virgin.’ She openly cringed, her fists balling tightly. She went to turn away from him, but Ed held her steady. He felt a rush of something for her but he couldn’t quite identify what it was. He just knew he didn’t want to let go of her.

‘Molly, you don’t want to do that with me.’

‘Yes, I do.’ She met his eyes fiercely. Something about Ed always made her feel a bit defensive. He called it her ‘feistiness’ and he made much of both enjoying it and inciting it, but Molly knew it was because he was the one person who was capable of exercising some sort of power over her. And in the same way, she made much of both enjoying it and inciting it.

‘You’ve slept with tons of girls, Ed. You must be ace at this. And we’re friends. I know you, you know me – almost inside and out. Who better for my first time?’ Molly meant it. She had made a decision downstairs in the kitchen. It had to be Ed. Had to be! Who else would she trust like this? It didn’t have to mean anything heavy. Surely they were grown-ups, surely they could do this and still be friends?

Molly had no idea if that was the case. She wasn’t even sure she believed it herself. Did she just want it because it was Ed? Because she so very badly wanted Ed?

Molly started to say something. But she felt too exposed, too vulnerable.

Ed took a shaky breath. Molly wanted to sleep with him because he was experienced. So that her first time was a good one. Because they were friends. Not because … Christ. He wanted her so much. But did he want her like this?

‘This should … you should …’

Ed mentally slapped himself. He had to stop this, to nip it in the bud. He wanted Molly more than he had wanted anyone, but he wasn’t going to sleep with her if it was just because she wanted a so-called ‘expert’ to be her first.

‘Molly.’ He held her by the arms, as much in his own defence as in hers. ‘This is a huge moment. We’re friends, very good friends, but that’s not a reason for us to … to do this. You should … your first should be someone you love. If at all possible.’

‘I bet yours wasn’t,’ she retorted.

‘Well, maybe not.’ Ed took that on the chin. Had to, really. His first experience had predictably been with one of the ‘easy’ girls at his school. He certainly hadn’t been in love with her, nor had he cared about such a notion.

But this was Molly. And Ed cared about her too much to take advantage. ‘I mean it, though. You should do this with someone you love, Molls. Not with me.’

Molly stared at him. For a drunk person she was holding his gaze surprisingly well. Was she drunk? Ed realised Molly was actually fairly sober now.

Molly was feeling exasperated. Enough was enough. Without saying anything, she tore off her t-shirt. Luckily, she was wearing a black bra with pretty scalloped edges. She was hopeful she was wearing the matching knickers, but, whatever. She had started this and she was going through with it regardless of her knicker situation.

Ed sucked his breath in. Her skin was luscious. Golden, smooth. The curve of her waist was exquisite. It flared in and then out again at her hips. He wanted to touch her all over. He wanted to adore every inch of her skin.

Molly swallowed. She was going to be truthful. Because otherwise Ed was never going to agree. ‘Ok. I don’t want you to be my first because you’re experienced. I want you to be my first because I want you – you – to be my first.’

Ed swallowed. Now how the hell was he supposed to defend himself against that?

‘Kiss me,’ Molly said, taking his face in her hands.

Ed faltered. Resist her, he commanded himself silently. But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. He kissed her, luxuriating in her mouth, loving her hands on his face, her body crushed to his. His hands were on her waist. It felt so small. She felt tiny, in fact. She was strong-willed yet fragile in so many ways, and that combination bowled Ed right over.

‘I’ve never wanted someone so much in my life …’ Molly whispered. And she meant it. Her eyes met his. They were seductive yet oddly innocent. ‘You are a dirty romantic after all, Edison. You kiss like a romantic. But it’s dirty too. I think that’s just perfect.’

Ed came undone. He pushed Molly against the wall, kissing her with everything he had. His hands were in her hair, his body was crushed hard against hers. She was kissing him back so ardently he could barely catch his breath. He felt consumed by her. And he bloody well loved it.

Ed heard something in the distance – his name. Was that his name? But he ignored it. The way Molly was making him feel, Ed was struggling to make sense of it. He felt her hands on his bare bum again and he groaned, leaning into her. He put his hand on her shoulder, slipped her bra strap to one side. Dropped a kiss where it had been, loving the way Molly squirmed against him.

‘Do. That. Again,’ she said, pulling him closer by the apron. ‘And then I want you naked. I want you naked and all over me.’

‘Are you absolutely certain you haven’t done this before?’ Ed panted, tearing off the apron.

‘I am absolutely certain,’ Molly said slowly. She looked down. ‘Well. I’m a bit speechless.’

‘Can you be a bit speechless?’ Ed asked, chuckling as he slid her other bra strap off her shoulder. ‘Is that a thing? Is that like being a bit pregnant?’ He left a trail of kisses down her neck. ‘Christ, this is not a time to mention pregnancy …’

Molly impatiently undid her bra and let it fall to the floor. She loved all the romantic stuff, but at the same time, she was about to explode.

‘Fucking hell,’ Ed said. ‘I am going to hurl you on to that bed and do unspeakable things to every single inch of your body. And then I’m going to—’

He paused. There it was again. His name. Someone was calling his name.

‘Ed!’ It was Jody yelling up the stairs. She sounded pissed at him. ‘Phone call.’

Molly carried on kissing him, oblivious. ‘Who would be calling you here?’ she mumbled against his mouth. ‘Don’t stop, Ed, don’t stop. Ignore it …’

Ed let her kiss him, just for a few seconds more. He savoured her mouth, tasted her, kissing her as if it was the very last time he might do it. As it may well be. Molly was a girl who could only be rejected – or rather, sidelined – so many times; he knew that. Ed knew it.

But he had to stop. He drew back. He was needed. He wanted to stay right here in Molly’s arms, her fragrant hair under his nostrils, her warm body thrust against his. But he was needed elsewhere. There was only one person who would call him at Molly’s house, only one reason such a call would be made.

‘Molly. Molly. I need to take that call.’ Summoning every vestige of strength, Ed removed Molly’s arms from his waist.

She straightened, meeting his eyes. ‘Who’s calling you, Ed?’

‘It’s an emergency. I mean, it must be.’ Ed dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I left a number with my … with my mother. In case she couldn’t track me down at my digs.’

Molly rubbed her fingers across her mouth. Was she already regretting what had happened?

Molly was, in fact, doing nothing of the sort. She was wondering why her mouth suddenly felt lonely.

‘Your mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Isn’t there anyone else who can help?’

Molly felt slightly pathetic clutching at straws like this, but she couldn’t shrug off the feeling that she was experiencing that first night on the beach all over again. As though something amazing that she could practically taste was being snatched away from her.

Ed’s heart clenched briefly in his chest. He wanted to tell her. He really wanted to tell her. Why couldn’t he bloody well tell her? Christ.

‘What sort of emergency?’ Molly said. She folded her arms across her chest. If anyone else had done that, Ed would have thought it was to cover a naked chest but Molly merely looked edgy. And exasperated. And gutted.

Ed hated himself. Hated this moment. Hated his mother. Only for a second, but he truly did. ‘I-I can’t say. I— but trust me. I have to take this.’ He squeezed Molly’s hand, silently pleading with her to trust him.

She held on to his hand. She didn’t want to, but she did it. Because it was Ed. ‘Why don’t you trust me?’

‘I do trust you. I do. It’s just …’

Ed shut up. He sounded like an idiot. But he’d sound even more like an idiot if he actually told Molly the truth. It was such a shameful, wretched tale.

‘I’m sorry, Molly,’ he said, picking up the apron. ‘I’m truly, truly sorry about this. Just know that I have to take this call. And I’ll probably have to go home for a bit. It has nothing to do with … with this. With us.’

‘Us?’ Molly started to laugh but it caught in her throat. She didn’t want to cry. Well, she did, but she would never forgive herself. ‘Is there such a thing?’ She raised her chin. ‘Go, Ed. Go. Answer your call. Do what you have to do.’

Ed felt paralysed. He didn’t want to leave this moment. He had a feeling that it was a very significant moment in his life. But he had no choice. He had obligations. Not able to think of a single thing to say that could smooth the waters and make Molly smile again, Ed left the room to take his call. He chucked the apron over his head before he reached the hallway and picked up the phone.

Ed could barely make sense of the voice at the other end of the line, but it didn’t really matter. Something had been ruined and he had to go and sort out another mess caused by the same hand.

He put the phone down, went into the kitchen and put his cold, wet passata-stained jeans back on.

‘Leaving yet another girl high and dry?’ Jody sneered as he headed past her to the front door.

‘Yeah,’ Ed said bitterly, striding past her. ‘It’s what I do, Jody. It’s just what I do.’

Upstairs, Molly shakily sat down on the bed. Feeling like this once was bad enough. Feeling like it twice was like a punch to the heart. So, lessons learnt. She and Ed should never get that close again. However incredible it felt in the moment, clearly they weren’t meant to be.

Shattered, Ed opened the front door. He had missed a train, then been forced to get off and change to another line, and then he had walked two miles from the station as he couldn’t get a cab. It was unexpectedly quiet in the house. Eerily so.

‘Mum?’

There was no answer. Opening the door to the sitting room, Ed sucked his breath in. The air smelt stale and pungent. Sick? Urine? Both? The room was dimly lit, only a side lamp providing a small umbrella of light, but Ed was familiar with the scene in front of him. Chairs were overturned, glasses smashed. A picture – nothing special, just a cheap print – had been hurled across the room. It lay at an odd angle against the wall, its frame splintered, the print poking out. A curtain had been torn from its rail and hung shabbily.

Ed swallowed. He was accomplished enough at clearing up to be able to assess the room and judge how long it would take him to put it to rights. With the furniture damage, and the as yet undiscovered pool of sick somewhere, he was looking at a good three hours or more. He turned to the sofa.

There she was. Sprawled across it, her legs flopped out at an undignified angle, her skirt bearing a wet stain that to Ed was unmistakable. There was a smear of lipstick smudged from the corner of her mouth to her chin, giving her the air of a macabre, violated doll. Ed leant over and pulled a blanket over her legs. He’d deal with the urine situation later. He grabbed a tissue and wetted it with his mouth, the way a parent does for a child, carefully dabbing at the lipstick until her face looked normal again. Then he sat back on his heels and gazed at her. And here it was. The very reason Ed didn’t ever bring friends – or, God forbid, girlfriends – home. The explanation for Ed’s only-child status. The shameful grounds on which to lie to the person he cared about the most in the world.

His mother. The devout, committed alcoholic. She had been married to a serial cheat, a husband who had upped and left years ago, abandoning both of them without a second glance. She had fallen apart and turned to the bottle. Ed had followed her around, picking up the pieces and clearing up her mess. Keeping his guilty secret under wraps from everyone, especially anyone who meant something to him.

He remembered some school friends turning up unannounced years ago, when his father had first left. His mother had been in the throes of a horrendous drinking binge and when she saw Ed’s school friends, she had danced around the garden laughing hysterically, trying to get them to join in. All with her skirt tucked in her knickers. Which was better than her stripping all of her clothes off and falling over on the patio with her legs splayed everywhere. Which she did later, in front of Ed’s friends. He had never been so mortified in his life, and he swore he would never allow anyone he remotely cared for to meet his mother ever again.

Florrie stirred and opened her eyes with some difficulty. Mascara and tears had seemingly welded them together and she almost had to put a hand to her face to unstick them. Ed found it both tragic and painful to watch.

‘Darling,’ she slurred. ‘Where have you been? I went out to look for you. Got a bit lost. Have you been climbing trees again?’

Ed closed his eyes. ‘Mother, I’m eighteen years old.’

‘Of course you are!’ Florrie cackled. ‘I’m forgetful; what can I say?’ She gave him a coquettish smile. ‘Is your girlfriend with you? The lovely Molly? You’re always talking about her.’

Ed opened his mouth to correct her then thought better of it. ‘No, no, she’s not,’ he said finally. It never ceased to disturb him how his mother seemed to flit in and out of past and present, from vagueness to startling accuracy.

‘Where is Michael?’ he asked her, enunciating clearly.

‘Michael?’

‘Michael. The man who moved in here. Your boyfriend.’

‘He’s gone.’ Florrie started to cry. It was a pitiful, child-like sound.

Ed put his hand on hers. ‘What happened?’

‘We had a fight. I had a drink.’ Florrie swallowed. ‘I said some things. Not very nice things. But it was all his fault.’

Ed nodded. He was well-acquainted with the downsides of an alcoholic with a mean streak. She had once told him she wished she’d never had him, that he had ruined her life and that he could drop dead as far as she was concerned. Not a great thing to hear at the tender age of fourteen.

‘He packed his stuff and he’s gone,’ Florrie said, her voice reaching a whiny pitch.

‘Maybe he’ll come back.’ Ed tiredly pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘You were in such a good place, Mum. Such a good place. How did this happen?’

‘I miss you,’ she said, pulling her lips into a pout. ‘I miss you so much, Edison. You won’t leave me again, will you?’ she pleaded, clawing at his hand. ‘You’re all I’ve got.’

‘I’m doing a degree, Mum. I’m trying to make a better life for us.’

‘But I need you here.’

Ed closed his eyes briefly. Here it came. The emotional blackmail. He could barely stand it. He had lived with it for so long now, he knew he should be used to it, but he hated it.

‘Time for a sleep,’ Ed told her gently. She resisted for a second, but exhaustion and alcohol soon overcame her and she relaxed against the sofa. Ed tucked the blanket more securely round her, feeling a multitude of emotions rushing into his throat – love, sympathy, resentment, responsibility. Overwhelmed, he settled down on the opposite sofa and rubbed his eyes blearily, wondering what on earth he was going to do now.