Summer at Shell Cottage (28 page)

She hurried down the stairs but the front door had already slammed and when she reached the porch and opened it, she was just in time to see Molly vanishing out the drive on a bike, pedalling
hard.

Shit.
Now what?

Well, ring Harriet, that was what.
Track her down and send her racing over to the Ennisbridge Hotel.
How long would it take Molly to get there on her bike?
Half an hour, tops.
There was no time
to lose.

Back in her own room, she grabbed the phone and dialled her sister-in-law.
It rang and rang and rang, just as Melanie’s phone had done earlier, and then once again, she was greeted by a
voicemail message.
Hello, this is Harriet, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.
Byeee!

‘It’s Freya,’ she said urgently.
‘Look – this might sound odd but I couldn’t help overhearing Molly just now.
She was talking to some boy, arranging to meet
him at the Ennisbridge Hotel.
He sounded really slimy – he was trying to push her into it.
Maybe you know all about this but I just got a bad feeling.
Um .
.
.’
Oh God.
How she wished
Harriet had picked up the call.
Where was she?
‘Let me know if you get this in time.
She’s on her way to meet him now – I’ve just seen her heading off on a bike.
Okay, ring
me back.
Hopefully talk to you in a minute.’

She paced around the room, feeling stressed.
What if Harriet had no signal, and didn’t receive the message for ages?
By the time Harriet’s phone alerted her to her daughter’s
plight, it could all be too late.
Freya envisaged Molly walking innocently into the hotel reception – walking headlong into danger, possibly – and let out a groan.
Hadn’t she
thought herself, that day at the supermarket, that her step-niece was jailbait?
The way every bloke had turned and looked at her, even middle-aged blokes, old enough to be her father, for
heaven’s sake .
.
.
Molly was like a ripe golden peach, just waiting to be plucked.
I can’t wait to see those tan lines, babe.

Well, not on my watch, mate
, she thought grimly.
Glancing out the window, she could see Victor and the children, already setting up camp for the day on the beach.
Ten forty-five, and
the sand was fast filling up with families and sun-worshippers, but her eye picked them out immediately.
There was Vic, using a rock to hammer in the poles of the windbreak.
(
Corrrr
, she
thought, with an unexpected flicker of lust.
Even from this distance, she could see how the muscles rippled in his back.) Beside him Teddy was digging a hole, while Dex and Libby were in their
wetsuits, scampering down to the sea with the bodyboards.
She could almost hear their laughter.

Freya ached to join them.
Ten minutes, she’d said.
But Harriet still hadn’t replied to her call, and Freya knew she couldn’t turn her back on Molly and the creep in the hotel.
No woman could.

She fired off two quick texts.

Vic, something’s happened with Molly – I’ll be a bit longer than I thought.
Sorry.
Will explain all later.
xxx

Harriet, me again.
I’m going to follow Molly and make sure she’s all right.
If you get this in time, Ennisbridge Hotel – big white one on seafront.
Love Freya
x

Then she hurried downstairs and into the car.
Much as she respected the sanctity of young love, Molly was fifteen and her boyfriend shouldn’t be putting her under pressure, she thought as
she drove away.
She’d give this teenage Lothario a flea in his ear and send him packing, then they could all get on with their lives again.

Molly cycled along the path, heart thumping.
Above her head, the trees waved leafy branches, casting dappled shade on the ground, and birds sang merrily.
Molly hardly noticed,
though.
A unicorn could come prancing out of the undergrowth, and it would barely register.
All she could think about was Ben Sex Bomb Jamison.
Ben, Ben, Ben!

Waiting for her at the hotel.
Ben.
Taking her hand and leading her up to the bedroom.
Oh, Ben.
Kissing him in the lift.
Ben!
(Was her breath okay?
She’d have to quickly chew some gum once
she’d locked her bike up.)

He’d booked them a double bedroom.
Ben.
He wanted to see her tan lines .
.
.

Oh God.
That was the scary bit.
Well, the first scary bit of several scary bits.
Taking her clothes off in front of him.
Or would he rip them off passionately like they did in romantic films?
(Mum would kill her if she came back with ripped clothes.
Aargh.
Mum would kill her
full stop
if she had the faintest idea what Molly was up to.
Thank God she had gone out for the day
according to that text.)

Then, after that .
.
.
Well.
It was obvious he wanted to do it.
How could they not do it, when there was a bed there?
When he had paid for a hotel room and everything?
He had basically paid all
that money so that they could do it.
What if he didn’t think she was worth it?
What if he asked her for some of the money back??

A few stolen kisses at school was one thing.
Getting physical and horny in Stratford-upon-Avon – yep, that had been good, too.
The flirty texts and phone calls – she could handle
those.
But a hotel room for two .
.
.
It seemed like a massive leap forward.
A huge, serious, no-turning-back leap.

A bird suddenly flapped across the path and Molly jumped, almost losing her balance on the bike.
Stupid bird, trying to kill people.
Stupid bird, getting in the way of her romantic, epic sex
mission, and the course of true love!

She hoped it was true love, anyway.
Did he love her?
She knew his texts off by heart, she’d read them so many times now, but he’d never actually said those three little words.
(Yet.)
Instead he’d said

1) He was
crazy about her.

2) He fancied her.

3) He wanted to see her naked.
(HELP.)

4) He couldn’t wait to be alone with her.

5) He thought she had nice boobs.
That was after she’d daringly sent a photo last night – a selfie in just her bra and knickers.
If she was completely honest with herself,
she’d been kind of hoping he’d reply saying, ‘My God, you are beautiful.
I am bewitched,’ that sort of thing, but instead, he’d texted back,
Ur tits look
amazing
, which wasn’t quite as romantic.
Still, at least he hadn’t sent any more schlong photos.
That was something.

Oh help.
The schlong.
She was going to actually see the schlong.
Would he expect her to touch it?
Would he expect her to .
.
.
you know, kiss it?
Or put it in her mouth?
Boys wanted you to do
that, everyone said so.
A blowie .
.
.
although you weren’t actually supposed to
blow
, according to Jasmine Barrett in the year above, who’d done everything with her boyfriend,
she reckoned.

Yes, love, but have you stayed in a hotel with him?
Molly thought, arching an eyebrow.
I think not.
Jasmine was going out with Olly Goodings, who had really bad acne on his
forehead anyway.
He was a mere child in comparison to Ben.

She emerged from the woodland, and the path curved down so that it ran alongside the main road.
Ennisbridge 1 mile
, said a signpost and her skin felt hot.

One mile until she was with him again.
One mile until they were up in that bedroom.
She hoped she wouldn’t be all hot and sweaty by the time they arrived.
What if she smelled horrible?
Had
she put enough deodorant on that morning?
She was in a T-shirt and shorts, and an old pair of faded pink Converse, with a broken lace that was knotted together on the left side.
She’d been in
such a hurry to leave, she hadn’t even thought about make-up or jewellery.
Suddenly she wished she had dressed up a bit for the occasion, maybe put on a nice dress and jewelled flip-flops.
It
wasn’t every day you lost your virginity, was it?
She could have at least made herself look presentable.

A shiver went down her back.
She and Chloe had often discussed what it would feel like to actually DO IT.
To have sex.
To have some bloke’s penis shoved up inside you.
(Ugh.) When you put
it like that, Molly wondered how the human race ever continued.
Jasmine Barrett said that it really hurt the first time.
Like, serious actual pain.
And she’d bled all over Olly’s
mum’s sheet, and it had been totally embarrassing.

What if Molly bled on the hotel sheet??
Nightmare.
She would die of embarrassment.
She and Chloe had been so paranoid about bleeding when they lost their virginity that they’d actually
signed up for a school horse-riding day, because everyone said that riding a horse broke your hymen.
It was bollocks, though.
It hadn’t worked
and
she’d been given the most
stubborn horse ever, which kept stopping dead and refusing to budge, however hard she pleaded.

There was Ennisbridge ahead, a clutch of white-painted buildings nestled against a beach, with a tiny harbour full of boats.
The cycle path ended and Molly moved gingerly to join the cars who
were already queuing back up the hill.
Shit.
Nearly there now.

By the time she was returning uphill this way, she would no longer be a virgin, she thought breathlessly.
She’d have done it, with Ben.
She’d be a woman.

Fucking hell.
It was terrifying.
She wasn’t sure she actually wanted to be a woman any more, to be honest.
She and Robert had swapped beds last night after he and Mum had an argument about
something, and Mum had been crying in bed, when she thought Molly was asleep.
It was all a bit weird.
When Molly asked what was wrong, Mum hadn’t wanted to tell her, just said in this sad
sort of voice, ‘Don’t worry.
It’ll be all right.
It’s fine.’

Not that Molly was thinking about her mum right now.
Go away, Mum.
You are not invited into my head today.
Not invited and not welcome.
If Mum was here, she’d only –

NO.
Stop.
Think about Ben instead.
Gorgeous, charming, handsome, funny Ben who had chosen her, yes, her, Molly Tarrant-Price, to share his hotel bedroom.
He’d come all that way
for her.

Her knuckles tightened on the handlebars.
Losing your virginity wasn’t a big deal anyway, she told herself.
It would be a relief to get rid of it.
Imagine going back to school in September
and telling Chloe and her other friends,
Yeah, I did it.

They would all be agog, mouths dropping open like trapdoors.
No way.
What?
Seriously?
Who with?

Ahh.
She braked, as the hill wound steeply down into the centre of town, and remembered that she wasn’t meant to tell anyone.
If you tell anyone, I won’t see you again.
Do you
understand?
If you tell anyone, it’s over.

God, it was complicated, being in love.

She’d reached the seafront now and braked to a stop by an ice-cream van.
Bunting fluttered across the street, from lamp post to lamp post.
The sea winked and twinkled in the sunshine.
There were families everywhere, making slow progress towards the beach, laden with buckets and spades and lilos.
Old people deliberated in front of postcard racks in the souvenir shops, while
toddlers drummed their feet in buggies and whinged for an ice lolly.
A bunch of teenagers went by, the boys all with their shorts hanging halfway down their bums, and Molly watched scornfully as
she saw them lope into the amusement arcade.
They seemed so immature compared to Ben.

Seagulls screeched as they sailed across the sky, and she could smell pasties and coffee from a nearby takeaway shop, mingled with the tang of diesel from a motorboat setting off to sea.
Everyone else was just getting on with their holidays on this bright, sunshine-filled day – an ordinary summer morning, down at the seaside.

It might be ordinary for them, she thought, but meanwhile, she had a sex mission to attend to.
The love affair of the year just waiting to explode into life.
She chained her bike to the prom
railings feeling fluttery, excited, completely bricking it.
Then she took a deep breath and strode along the front.
Ennisbridge Hotel, here I come.