A. Michael - Be My Baby

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.