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Ewan clicked his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly. In fact, he was the only man Molly knew who tutted in a non-ironic fashion. ‘Please don’t call it the Love Bug. It trivialises a very important project and it’s also completely inaccurate. You and I know it’s not a bug, it’s a genetically synthesised bonding hormone but if that … descriptor … slipped out to the press, they’d jump on it like a … like a … dog on a bone.’
Molly resisted the urge to snigger. Ewan might be a genius, and gorgeous, but he was shit at similes.
‘You know what will happen, if some clever dick from the papers gets a whiff of our work before we’re ready to announce it publicly, it will end up splashed on the pages of some rag as a “sex bullet” next to a picture of Brian Cox showing his …’
‘Calm down. Our work is under wraps for now and the Love Bug will still be here tomorrow,’ she said, deliberately using the despised descriptor again and dumping her gloves in the waste bin. ‘But the party and your adoring fans won’t.’
‘I do not have adoring fans.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Molly mischievously. ‘What about Mrs Choudhry from admin and that guy from the equipment supplier with the hooked nose who smells like chloroform?’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Really? Well, I’m going and if I don’t see you at the party, I’ll see you next year.’
Molly made a meal of taking off her onesie, in the hope Ewan might change his mind and leave the lab with her but he pulled up his hood again and started tapping away at his laptop.
‘Maybe I can just fit in one more run of tests …’
One day you will be found dead in this lab, Ewan Baxter, and eaten by fruit flies. In fact, it may be that someone – probably me – kills you out of sheer sexual frustration.
‘Up to you,’ said Molly through gritted teeth, ‘but I have to get down to the fancy-dress shop and find a costume before it closes.’
At first she thought he hadn’t heard her but then, slowly and very deliberately, he swivelled round again. There was genuine terror in his eyes and she thought his face had definitely turned a shade paler.
‘Thefancy-dress shop? Why would I need a costume?’
Power surged through Molly’s veins. ‘Didn’t you realise?’ she said, picking up her backpack. ‘It’s a fancy-dress party. The theme is movie heroes and heroines. Good luck with what you can find in the next half hour.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ucff8f2dd-748b-53af-8320-90e396184d85)
Five miles northwest of Molly’s lab, in the village of Fenham, Sarah Havers inched open the drawer of the dressing table in the cottage bedroom. The white test stick still lay on top of her frilly red thong – the same one that had got her into trouble in the first place.
The face of her partner appeared in the mirror behind her. ‘Is that feckin’ fireworks going off already?’ he said, fastening the top button of his uniform shirt.
Sarah nudged the drawer shut. ‘It’s only six o’clock – surely they aren’t setting them off this early?’ Her heart thudded. She hadn’t heard Niall come out of the en suite.
‘Believe me, it’s never too early to set fire to your dad’s shed or blow your fingers off.’
‘Eww. Spare me the image, Mr McCafferty.’
Niall ran his fingers through his quiff. Sarah thought he’d overdone the gel for work, but Niall’s “thing” about his hair was a small price to pay for living with a real-life hero, not that she’d ever tell him that of course. ‘Hey, I’ll be delighted if all we get tonight is a few lost fingers and some burns,’ he said, teasing his hair into an impressive ski slope. ‘It’s more likely that we’ll have someone die of alcohol poisoning or a juicy stabbing but as long as it’s not me, I can cope.’
Sarah twisted the stool around to face him. ‘I wish you didn’t have to work on New Year’s Eve. You’ve already done the Christmas Day shift.’
Niall frowned as he dabbed at a tiny shaving cut on his chin. ‘Most of the other crew have kids. It doesn’t seem right not to give them time with their families and you know we need all the overtime I can get these days.’
‘I’ll still miss you like mad. It means the world to me that you’ve been behind me giving up my job to start the business, especially a tiara-making business.’
‘You won’t miss me. You’ll have a fantastic time with Molly at the scientists’ ball.’
Sarah laughed. ‘I’m not sure what it’ll be like with eighty geeks bopping away.’
Niall flicked one of the crystals on her tiara and they shimmered in the lamplight. ‘And I’m sure you’ll liven it up, darlin’, though I’m not happy about letting my sexy fairy out of my sight.’
‘Actually, I’m a princess. The party theme is “movie heroes and heroines” and I decided that Anastasia counts as a heroine. Some people say she survived when the rest of the Russian royal family were murdered.’
‘You can be a sexy princess, then, I don’t really mind.’
She traced a nail down the open V of his shirt, enjoying the softness of his chest hair under her fingertip. ‘And I love a sexy paramedic.’
‘Now, now, it wouldn’t do for Cambridgeshire County ambulance service to send a staff member out with a massive hard-on, would it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It would add a little frisson for the patients.’
‘Not with the kind of patients I’m likely to encounter on New Year’s Eve. You’ll get me into trouble … Now, I really have to go. Be careful out there and enjoy yourself. What time do you want picking up from Molly’s place tomorrow morning?’
‘Oh, erm … whenever you like.’ Sarah felt guilty about lying but she didn’t want to drop a momentous bombshell on him just before he headed out on his shift. New Year’s Eve was his busiest night of the year and he’d need every ounce of concentration as he hurtled along the roads of Cambridgeshire on his way to a shout. OK, she might be paranoid and sound like an old fogey, but surely anyone would be after what happened to her and Molly’s parents? You never lost the anxiety after a tragedy like that: part of you always knew that the worst could happen no matter how unlikely.
‘I know you worry but we’re trained professionals, remember? And if anything does happen, well, at least we’d have the paramedics on site.’
‘Don’t joke, Ni!’ said Sarah, then softened her tone. She was being silly and she knew Niall’s black humour was designed to jolly her out of her fears about him hurtling round the roads at top speed. The banter was the only way he and his colleagues could deal with their jobs most of the time.
He kissed her again. ‘Sorry, babe … bad taste but honestly, my love, nothing is going to happen to me tonight, I promise you. I’ll text you if I can but it’s going to be a manic night. I’ll be back around four a.m. but it could be lunchtime before I surface properly.’
‘I suppose I can hang on until then to give you your New Year’s present,’ she said, growing excited again at the prospect of sharing her news and focusing on new life, not the past.
‘My present?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I can’t wait.’
Sarah was still staring at her reflection when the front door shut and she heard Niall whistling “Happy” by Pharrell Williams on the drive. Only after she heard the engine of his motorbike dying in the distance, and when the pop and fizzle of the fireworks sounded loud against the newly silent house, did she dare to open the drawer again.
She picked up the test stick and butterflies stirred in her stomach. Would Niall actually like his present? Getting pregnant now was hardly ideal timing. She’d given up her job to start her new business only a few months before and on top of the mortgage on the cottage, and the bills, they had to find the payments on Niall’s new motorbike.
She spread her palm over her stomach. It felt exactly the same as it had for the past year. Not flat, of course – she hadn’t had a flat tummy since she was about ten – but it certainly wasn’t any rounder. She didn’t feel sick, either, unless you counted the butterflies of excitement and apprehension that had been fluttering away for the past half hour. Her body gave no clue whatsoever that it had another person inside it yet someone was there right now, its heart beating because hers did, breathing when she did, and relying on her for its survival.
Niall loved kids and he adored his huge extended family. Sarah would never forget the first time he’d introduced her to them two years before. It had been at a party for his Nana McCafferty’s ninetieth birthday and a bit like being thrown into a pit of friendly lions and their cubs. And now she and Niall were starting their own tiny clan.
Emotion bubbled up in her throat. She picked up her mobile and dialled the second most used number on her phone.
‘Hello, this is Molly, I can’t get to the phone right now …’
Damn. Was Molly still at work at this time of night? It was New Year’s Eve – but then, her little sister had always been the biggest geek on the planet, next to her workaholic boss, of course. To be fair, Molly’s latest crush on Ewan Baxter had lasted well over a year now – far longer than any of the others. Sarah wasn’t terribly hopeful; Ewan had failed to respond to any of Molly’s hints so far. Sarah thought he was mad; Molly was gorgeous and fun and bright – when she wasn’t infuriating and impulsive, of course.
‘Hi, Molly, it’s me,’ Sarah spoke into the answerphone. ‘Are you still at work? If you are, don’t let Professor McDreamy make you miss the party. I’m still coming but I can’t stay over at yours after all so I’ll drive us home and before you ask, I don’t mind staying sober and no, I’m not ill …’
Even hinting about the baby to Molly made Sarah want to laugh out loud and burst into tears at the same time. What would she be like when she told Niall? She imagined breaking her news in front of the embers of the cottage’s log fire. She imagined his gasp of amazement and his gobsmacked face. She wanted to hold the moment forever in her mind.
‘I’ll tell you more when I see you,’ she said when it was obvious Molly wasn’t going to pick up. ‘Now, get the hell out of that lab and put your glad rags on.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ucff8f2dd-748b-53af-8320-90e396184d85)
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.’
