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r_scribblesRACING through this Cabin Pressure/Sherlock crossover. I just find awkward courtship a lot of fun to write. Part 3 - on with The Drink And Molly's Explanation!
Part 2
Part 3
-x-
Oh God, Molly thought to herself as she waited, luggage and all, outside the little Costa Coffee kiosk, he’s not going to show up, is he?
Because seriously, what was she doing? If somebody had slapped her in the face while she was working, then burst into tears and asked her out for drinks would she accept?
Actually, Molly probably would, she conceded to herself, but then Molly was funny like that. That was why she ended up letting Sherlock Bloody Holmes and Jim Bastard Moriarty wrap her around their little fingers. This Martin guy seemed nice – normal. What made her think he was going to bother meeting her after she’d made a complete arse of hersel… oh, there he was! Just in everyday shirt and trousers… a panicked thought struck her that perhaps he was concerned she was only interested in the uniform. She resolved to say something to the contrary as he approached.
‘Oh,’ she smiled. ‘I was hoping I’d manage to get you out of your uniform… I mean…’
‘Oh,’ replied Martin, ‘yes. Well, I thought it might not be a great idea to be seen having coffee while in uniform. Not that I don’t drink coffee while I’m wearing my uniform usually, I mean, on a… not that this is a… I mean with a…’ he made a hand gesture that might have been gesticulating towards Molly, or might have been miming grabbing a large pair of breasts, or might even have been Jazz Hands, although Molly wasn’t sure how that would have fit in with what he seemed to be trying to say. ‘With you,’ he managed. He cleared his throat. ‘Shall we?’
Molly looked back at the kiosk, with its obese, sweaty old man at one table and harassed looking woman with screaming twins at another, its lonely, bored looking Barista and its fake pot plants.
‘Actually, I was rather hoping for something a bit stiffer,’ she told him. ‘Drinks wise, that is. God knows I could do with one. Is… that OK?’
‘I’m stuck in Luton for the next 14 hours,’ Martin told her. ‘A proper drink sounds about right to me. I’ve been here enough times to know about the Wetherspoon’s round the corner.’
They trundled their cases together out of the doors and into the continuing drizzle of the Luton afternoon.
They made polite, slightly stilted chit-chat about work as they walked. Martin was happy to talk about the technicalities of captaining a charter plane, if remaining reticent to go into many anecdotes from it. There was the usual morbid curiosity about her job once she told him about it, although that was mercifully much more short-lived than previous experiences, and the conversation quickly moved on to their mutual enjoyment of Silent Witness.
It wasn’t until they were sitting at a table in the pub with a bottle of red between them that she started trying to explain the reasoning behind her behaviour in the cockpit earlier.
‘There’s… this guy.’
‘Ah,’ said Martin.
‘And I mistook you for him because your face, and your voice… it’s uncanny.’
‘He’s, um…’ Martin took a swig of wine. ‘He’s your boyfriend?’
Molly laughed, loudly and joylessly.
‘Ex boyfriend, then?’
‘No.’ Molly tried to smile but felt as if it was coming out as more of a grimace. ‘He’s a manipulative bastard who I’ve risked my job and my safety for just so that he can wander in to my workplace whenever he wants and do whatever he likes.’
‘Sounds charming.’
‘He is. That’s the trouble. He’s incredibly charming, when he wants to be. And brilliant, and exciting, and gorgeous…’
‘Come on, he can’t be that gorgeous.’
Molly sighed down at her wine. ‘He really, really is.’
Martin was starting to look rather pink, and not just around the slap mark. ‘Then why…?’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. So, you thought I was this “Jim”, and…’
‘Oh, no. Jim is my ex boyfriend. After a fashion.’ Molly took another sip of wine. ‘See, this is where my life goes from just “unfortunate” to “cursed”.’ She paused, and took yet another sip. ‘You know how sometimes people say “oh, my ex is a psycho”, and you know they’re exaggerating? Well, to say Jim is a psycho is a massive, massive understatement. He dated me for three weeks, put on this big lovey-dovey act, just so that he could out-manipulative-bastard the Manipulative Bastard.’
‘Well, it sounds like your Manipulative Bastard deserved to be, um, out-bastarded.’
Molly shook her head. ‘Don’t say that. This other guy… I’m really worried for him. I don’t even want to say his name – it’s very unusual, there’d be no mistaking who I was talking about, and these days I never know who’s listening. You don’t know the campaign Jim started up against him. We’re talking blowing up his windows just to say “Hello”, here. We’re talking about killing innocent people to show he was serious. Ended up terrorising him at a swimming pool – used his flatmate – who’s a lovely man, wouldn’t hurt a fly – as a hostage. A genuine psychopath.’
‘Killing people?’ Martin asked. ‘Killing people? Hostages?’
‘This is my life,’ Molly told him, miserably. ‘Or at least, what my life’s become. And Jim’s still out there, you know. I don’t think he’s going to stop. I don’t think he can be stopped…’
‘You think he’s going to kill him – the me-Person, that is?’
‘Kill him, or drive him mad, or… I think Jim might have turned out to be a bit Gay, so…’
‘Oh.’
‘And this guy really is very striking, so I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Molly had another sip.
‘He dated you just to get close to another man, that you both fancied?’ Martin looked as if he was having trouble processing everything she’d told him, but was appalled by what had managed to sink in – not that she blamed him for that. ‘That’s… that’s so rude. I mean, I’m not saying that the killing people and taking hostages part isn’t really bad – in fact, that’s probably worse, but I mean… it’s not like men can’t ask other men out, it’s the 21st Century.’
‘I don’t think that was really Jim’s point. It’s an obsession. A violent obsession. And they say he’s done with me now, but Jim’s already taken it out on some of the people in this guy’s circle, and he knows I work with him, and he knows I like him, and he knows all about my family, where I live…’ She broke off. Determined not to cry yet again, she stiffened her upper lip with a good swig of wine.
‘Oh,’ said Martin. ‘Yes, you’re right – the Gay thing isn’t the issue here at all, is it?’
‘No. It’s still annoying. I think he might be Gay, too… the you-Person.’ She sighed. ‘I certainly know how to pick them.’
‘I’m not,’ Martin blurted. ‘Gay, that is.’
‘Oh, that’s not what I meant,’ Molly protested.
Martin kept talking over her. ‘Not that you’ve “picked” me, I know, but…’
‘Well, I sort of asked you out for a drink,’ Molly replied. ‘So I’m glad you’re not Gay.’ She paused for a second. ‘Not that I wouldn’t buy you a drink if you were Gay, after I hit you, and certainly not that I’m expecting anything from you…’
‘Oh?’ Martin looked a little disappointed.
‘I mean,’ Molly added, hurriedly, ‘this is a real treat for me in itself. In fact, this may be the most pleasant thing to happen to me in weeks.’
‘A £10 bottle of wine in Wetherspoons?’
‘Well. Not just that.’ She gave Martin a little smile, but he didn’t seem to understand. Try to flirt and you just get a blank look - Sherlock all over again, part of her brain told her, before she ordered it unceremoniously to shut up and stop trying to put her off. ‘I was thinking of having a £6 lasagne with it, as well. Care to join me? Still my treat.’
‘It’s only half past 5,’ Martin noted. ‘If we order before 6, we can get both lasagnes for £7.99.’
‘Don’t make fun.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Martin replied, ‘I was just pointing it out.’ He poured more wine out for them both. ‘It isn’t about how much it costs, is it? Well… it is about how much it costs, I know not everyone can afford fancy dinners out, that’s why I mentioned the special offer… not that I’d imagine you might be strapped for cash, what with all your Post Mortem examinations and everything. Just… this is probably the most pleasant thing to happen to me in weeks, too.’
Molly scoffed. ‘No. Really?’
‘Horrible flight yesterday,’ Martin told her. ‘Had to divert to Alicante, due to wasps.’
‘Wasps?’
Martin pulled back his collar a way to show a couple of angry looking welts on the side of his neck. ‘They’ve got it in for me, I swear. And then I lost my pudding to Douglas over a game of Whose Wine Is It Anyway.’
Molly drew a breath.
‘No,’ added Martin, ‘that’s not a euphemism. And then before that, there was the problem with the ice creams, and before that was the Nuns.’
‘The Nuns…?’
‘Don’t ask,’ groaned Martin. ‘They’ve all got it in for me, too. They were evil. Truly evil.’
‘We should set them on my Ex,’ said Molly.
They laughed.
-x-
They did both have lasagne, in the end. And managed to get their way through another bottle of wine. The whole of Martin’s face proceeded to turn as bright as the slapped cheek, and Molly could feel her own face flushing. The wine, she explained to herself.
A little after 7, Molly started to gather her things.
‘I should go,’ she explained. ‘I’ve still got to get back to Tooting, and then I’ve got unpacking and laundry, and work first thing tomorrow…’
Martin said ‘I’ll see you into a taxi to the station’ at the same time that she said ‘Can I have your number?’
‘Sorry,’ they both chorused as a result of speaking over the other one.
‘Can I have your number?’ Molly asked again. ‘It’s just… I’ve enjoyed tonight, and we both like Silent Witness and hate wasps, so that’s two things in common.’
‘Oh! Yes. Yes. Great. I’ll just…’ There was a moment of awkward stillness as they indulged in a courtship habit of the 21st Century that neither had quite grown into yet – the pulling up and stilted exchange of mobile numbers.
That done, Molly grabbed her suitcase handle. ‘I’ll just…’ she said.
‘I’ll get you that taxi,’ he added, hurriedly.
There were, of course, no taxis to be found outside the pub, so they walked back towards the airport and the only taxi rank that Martin knew of in Luton.
After around half a minute’s walking in silence, Martin announced, ‘I’m wanted in Azerbaijan, you know.’
‘Professionally?’
‘No - criminally. Apparently. We tried to go through Yevlakh Airport once and there was this massive fuss – five security staff jumped me. Apparently, I was a wanted man. They had to sneak me back onto the plane in a crate.’
Molly suppressed a giggle. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That’s not at all funny.’
‘I only say,’ added Martin, ‘because I was wondering if that might be His doing… you know, the me-person?’
‘It’s possible,’ Molly conceded. ‘Actually, no – it’s highly probable. I imagine he broke several laws over there with the understanding that he’d never be going back.’
Martin snorted a little laugh. ‘Do you think you could send me his itinerary in the future, so I’ll know what countries to avoid arrest in? Or at least be forewarned to bring a crate big enough to hide me in that hadn’t just been used for transporting fish?’
Molly couldn’t hold back her own laughter any more. ‘You poor thing,’ she managed. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse’
‘I can.’ Martin was giggling hard, now. ‘Getting arrested on Anti Terrorism laws in the States for possession of a nose hair trimmer, being beaten up by a little boy, taking a drunken Hen Party to Prague and being mistaken for the stripper…’ Martin doubled over a little, laughing to himself.
‘They didn’t.’
‘They did! Quarter of an hour of trying to convince them otherwise, and they still wouldn’t believe me.’
‘You should have just done it,’ Molly told him. ‘Think of the tips!’
‘They wouldn’t have let me!’ Martin wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. ‘I had three of them shouting “take it off” and the rest of them bellowing for me to keep it on. The Maid of Honour kept demanding her £70 back.’
‘Then, she’s an idiot. Seventy quid’s a bargain. Do you take American Express?’
‘Wherever would I swipe it?’
They collapsed into laughter again.
‘Tell you what,’ added Martin through drunken giggles, ‘£10 cash and I’ll undo my shirt buttons and dance around a bit.’
‘I need that tenner for my taxi to the station,’ replied Molly. ‘What’ll £4.50 get me?’
‘A song?’ Martin suggested. ‘A snog?’
‘You already sang “Hello Molly” to me,’ she reminded him.
‘Of course.’
There was an awkward pause. He seemed to be no closer to accepting or rejecting – possibly not even understanding - the hint. She fished the coins out of her purse and held them out to him.
‘Oh, look, an extra 50p,’ she said. ‘Do I get tongue for that?’
He reached out, closed her fist around her money and pushed her hand down to her side. Then, he leaned forwards and hesitantly brushed his lips against hers. She kissed back, firmer.
It was a short, sweet kiss that he pulled away from, quickly. She could practically see him drumming up the courage before he launched himself into a second, far more enthusiastic kiss.
As much as she tried to not compare kissing Martin with how she’d imagined kissing Sherlock would be, a part of her just couldn’t help it. Whenever she’d fantasised about Sherlock, she’d imagined kisses that were perfectly calculated. Precise. Crafted. Performed. Even in her daydreams of wish fulfilment, she could never picture the kisses being without an ulterior motive. She’d imagined kisses that were all style, and no heart.
Martin, she decided, quickly, was the opposite. His kisses were a little too wet, and were hot with alcohol, and he didn’t seem very sure about what to do with his tongue. It reminded her of drunken snogs at the Student’s Union bar, back in her teens. But he meant it. She was in no doubt about that. 4 out of 10 for technique, which could be worked on – full marks for substance.
A loud ‘Woy Oy’ snapped them both out of the kiss. Three swaggering men in their twenties jeered as they passed, trailing a pair of meaty, bare legged young women along with them.
‘Don’t fancy yours much, Darling,’ cackled one of the unfortunately mini-skirted women as they trotted off in the direction of the pub.
‘I…’ began Molly, but Martin’s attention was on the road behind her.
‘There’s a taxi.’
They waved it over together.
‘Places to go,’ she sighed. ‘People to autopsy.’ She gave him another quick kiss. ‘I’ll text you.’
‘Maybe next time I end up in Central London…’ started Martin.
‘I’d love that,’ smiled Molly.
-x-
He waited until the taxi had pulled off before making his way to the Travelodge Carolyn had booked for them. He avoided the pub where he knew Douglas and Arthur would be having dinner. He’d field off Douglas’ double entendres and Arthur’s single entendres in the morning. At that point he was too drunk and giddy and confused to deal with them straight away. He went to his room and took a shower. He thought about that kiss, and how much he wanted to do it again – which was a lot. He thought back to her horrifying anecdotes, and how they made his own anecdotes pale in comparison, and how good it had felt to laugh off his misfortunes. He thought, despite himself, about this Other-Him, this person who could not be named – whose name he didn’t particularly want to know, actually, because he wasn’t at all impressed by what he’d heard of his behaviour, running around carelessly breaking laws and hearts, all the time doing so with Martin’s face.
Something else bothered him about that, too. Something that Molly had said, that just didn’t add up. He finished in the shower, got out and wiped the condensation from the mirror. He saw the same face staring back through the steam that he’d always seen. The same assortment of facial features that just didn’t seem to sit right together; like, he’d always thought, somebody looking at his self in a spoon. Taking the reflection in, he grimaced, which just made it worse.
He repeated the bothersome word to himself, incredulously.
‘”Gorgeous”…?’
Part 4
Part 2
Part 3
-x-
Oh God, Molly thought to herself as she waited, luggage and all, outside the little Costa Coffee kiosk, he’s not going to show up, is he?
Because seriously, what was she doing? If somebody had slapped her in the face while she was working, then burst into tears and asked her out for drinks would she accept?
Actually, Molly probably would, she conceded to herself, but then Molly was funny like that. That was why she ended up letting Sherlock Bloody Holmes and Jim Bastard Moriarty wrap her around their little fingers. This Martin guy seemed nice – normal. What made her think he was going to bother meeting her after she’d made a complete arse of hersel… oh, there he was! Just in everyday shirt and trousers… a panicked thought struck her that perhaps he was concerned she was only interested in the uniform. She resolved to say something to the contrary as he approached.
‘Oh,’ she smiled. ‘I was hoping I’d manage to get you out of your uniform… I mean…’
‘Oh,’ replied Martin, ‘yes. Well, I thought it might not be a great idea to be seen having coffee while in uniform. Not that I don’t drink coffee while I’m wearing my uniform usually, I mean, on a… not that this is a… I mean with a…’ he made a hand gesture that might have been gesticulating towards Molly, or might have been miming grabbing a large pair of breasts, or might even have been Jazz Hands, although Molly wasn’t sure how that would have fit in with what he seemed to be trying to say. ‘With you,’ he managed. He cleared his throat. ‘Shall we?’
Molly looked back at the kiosk, with its obese, sweaty old man at one table and harassed looking woman with screaming twins at another, its lonely, bored looking Barista and its fake pot plants.
‘Actually, I was rather hoping for something a bit stiffer,’ she told him. ‘Drinks wise, that is. God knows I could do with one. Is… that OK?’
‘I’m stuck in Luton for the next 14 hours,’ Martin told her. ‘A proper drink sounds about right to me. I’ve been here enough times to know about the Wetherspoon’s round the corner.’
They trundled their cases together out of the doors and into the continuing drizzle of the Luton afternoon.
They made polite, slightly stilted chit-chat about work as they walked. Martin was happy to talk about the technicalities of captaining a charter plane, if remaining reticent to go into many anecdotes from it. There was the usual morbid curiosity about her job once she told him about it, although that was mercifully much more short-lived than previous experiences, and the conversation quickly moved on to their mutual enjoyment of Silent Witness.
It wasn’t until they were sitting at a table in the pub with a bottle of red between them that she started trying to explain the reasoning behind her behaviour in the cockpit earlier.
‘There’s… this guy.’
‘Ah,’ said Martin.
‘And I mistook you for him because your face, and your voice… it’s uncanny.’
‘He’s, um…’ Martin took a swig of wine. ‘He’s your boyfriend?’
Molly laughed, loudly and joylessly.
‘Ex boyfriend, then?’
‘No.’ Molly tried to smile but felt as if it was coming out as more of a grimace. ‘He’s a manipulative bastard who I’ve risked my job and my safety for just so that he can wander in to my workplace whenever he wants and do whatever he likes.’
‘Sounds charming.’
‘He is. That’s the trouble. He’s incredibly charming, when he wants to be. And brilliant, and exciting, and gorgeous…’
‘Come on, he can’t be that gorgeous.’
Molly sighed down at her wine. ‘He really, really is.’
Martin was starting to look rather pink, and not just around the slap mark. ‘Then why…?’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. So, you thought I was this “Jim”, and…’
‘Oh, no. Jim is my ex boyfriend. After a fashion.’ Molly took another sip of wine. ‘See, this is where my life goes from just “unfortunate” to “cursed”.’ She paused, and took yet another sip. ‘You know how sometimes people say “oh, my ex is a psycho”, and you know they’re exaggerating? Well, to say Jim is a psycho is a massive, massive understatement. He dated me for three weeks, put on this big lovey-dovey act, just so that he could out-manipulative-bastard the Manipulative Bastard.’
‘Well, it sounds like your Manipulative Bastard deserved to be, um, out-bastarded.’
Molly shook her head. ‘Don’t say that. This other guy… I’m really worried for him. I don’t even want to say his name – it’s very unusual, there’d be no mistaking who I was talking about, and these days I never know who’s listening. You don’t know the campaign Jim started up against him. We’re talking blowing up his windows just to say “Hello”, here. We’re talking about killing innocent people to show he was serious. Ended up terrorising him at a swimming pool – used his flatmate – who’s a lovely man, wouldn’t hurt a fly – as a hostage. A genuine psychopath.’
‘Killing people?’ Martin asked. ‘Killing people? Hostages?’
‘This is my life,’ Molly told him, miserably. ‘Or at least, what my life’s become. And Jim’s still out there, you know. I don’t think he’s going to stop. I don’t think he can be stopped…’
‘You think he’s going to kill him – the me-Person, that is?’
‘Kill him, or drive him mad, or… I think Jim might have turned out to be a bit Gay, so…’
‘Oh.’
‘And this guy really is very striking, so I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Molly had another sip.
‘He dated you just to get close to another man, that you both fancied?’ Martin looked as if he was having trouble processing everything she’d told him, but was appalled by what had managed to sink in – not that she blamed him for that. ‘That’s… that’s so rude. I mean, I’m not saying that the killing people and taking hostages part isn’t really bad – in fact, that’s probably worse, but I mean… it’s not like men can’t ask other men out, it’s the 21st Century.’
‘I don’t think that was really Jim’s point. It’s an obsession. A violent obsession. And they say he’s done with me now, but Jim’s already taken it out on some of the people in this guy’s circle, and he knows I work with him, and he knows I like him, and he knows all about my family, where I live…’ She broke off. Determined not to cry yet again, she stiffened her upper lip with a good swig of wine.
‘Oh,’ said Martin. ‘Yes, you’re right – the Gay thing isn’t the issue here at all, is it?’
‘No. It’s still annoying. I think he might be Gay, too… the you-Person.’ She sighed. ‘I certainly know how to pick them.’
‘I’m not,’ Martin blurted. ‘Gay, that is.’
‘Oh, that’s not what I meant,’ Molly protested.
Martin kept talking over her. ‘Not that you’ve “picked” me, I know, but…’
‘Well, I sort of asked you out for a drink,’ Molly replied. ‘So I’m glad you’re not Gay.’ She paused for a second. ‘Not that I wouldn’t buy you a drink if you were Gay, after I hit you, and certainly not that I’m expecting anything from you…’
‘Oh?’ Martin looked a little disappointed.
‘I mean,’ Molly added, hurriedly, ‘this is a real treat for me in itself. In fact, this may be the most pleasant thing to happen to me in weeks.’
‘A £10 bottle of wine in Wetherspoons?’
‘Well. Not just that.’ She gave Martin a little smile, but he didn’t seem to understand. Try to flirt and you just get a blank look - Sherlock all over again, part of her brain told her, before she ordered it unceremoniously to shut up and stop trying to put her off. ‘I was thinking of having a £6 lasagne with it, as well. Care to join me? Still my treat.’
‘It’s only half past 5,’ Martin noted. ‘If we order before 6, we can get both lasagnes for £7.99.’
‘Don’t make fun.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Martin replied, ‘I was just pointing it out.’ He poured more wine out for them both. ‘It isn’t about how much it costs, is it? Well… it is about how much it costs, I know not everyone can afford fancy dinners out, that’s why I mentioned the special offer… not that I’d imagine you might be strapped for cash, what with all your Post Mortem examinations and everything. Just… this is probably the most pleasant thing to happen to me in weeks, too.’
Molly scoffed. ‘No. Really?’
‘Horrible flight yesterday,’ Martin told her. ‘Had to divert to Alicante, due to wasps.’
‘Wasps?’
Martin pulled back his collar a way to show a couple of angry looking welts on the side of his neck. ‘They’ve got it in for me, I swear. And then I lost my pudding to Douglas over a game of Whose Wine Is It Anyway.’
Molly drew a breath.
‘No,’ added Martin, ‘that’s not a euphemism. And then before that, there was the problem with the ice creams, and before that was the Nuns.’
‘The Nuns…?’
‘Don’t ask,’ groaned Martin. ‘They’ve all got it in for me, too. They were evil. Truly evil.’
‘We should set them on my Ex,’ said Molly.
They laughed.
-x-
They did both have lasagne, in the end. And managed to get their way through another bottle of wine. The whole of Martin’s face proceeded to turn as bright as the slapped cheek, and Molly could feel her own face flushing. The wine, she explained to herself.
A little after 7, Molly started to gather her things.
‘I should go,’ she explained. ‘I’ve still got to get back to Tooting, and then I’ve got unpacking and laundry, and work first thing tomorrow…’
Martin said ‘I’ll see you into a taxi to the station’ at the same time that she said ‘Can I have your number?’
‘Sorry,’ they both chorused as a result of speaking over the other one.
‘Can I have your number?’ Molly asked again. ‘It’s just… I’ve enjoyed tonight, and we both like Silent Witness and hate wasps, so that’s two things in common.’
‘Oh! Yes. Yes. Great. I’ll just…’ There was a moment of awkward stillness as they indulged in a courtship habit of the 21st Century that neither had quite grown into yet – the pulling up and stilted exchange of mobile numbers.
That done, Molly grabbed her suitcase handle. ‘I’ll just…’ she said.
‘I’ll get you that taxi,’ he added, hurriedly.
There were, of course, no taxis to be found outside the pub, so they walked back towards the airport and the only taxi rank that Martin knew of in Luton.
After around half a minute’s walking in silence, Martin announced, ‘I’m wanted in Azerbaijan, you know.’
‘Professionally?’
‘No - criminally. Apparently. We tried to go through Yevlakh Airport once and there was this massive fuss – five security staff jumped me. Apparently, I was a wanted man. They had to sneak me back onto the plane in a crate.’
Molly suppressed a giggle. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That’s not at all funny.’
‘I only say,’ added Martin, ‘because I was wondering if that might be His doing… you know, the me-person?’
‘It’s possible,’ Molly conceded. ‘Actually, no – it’s highly probable. I imagine he broke several laws over there with the understanding that he’d never be going back.’
Martin snorted a little laugh. ‘Do you think you could send me his itinerary in the future, so I’ll know what countries to avoid arrest in? Or at least be forewarned to bring a crate big enough to hide me in that hadn’t just been used for transporting fish?’
Molly couldn’t hold back her own laughter any more. ‘You poor thing,’ she managed. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse’
‘I can.’ Martin was giggling hard, now. ‘Getting arrested on Anti Terrorism laws in the States for possession of a nose hair trimmer, being beaten up by a little boy, taking a drunken Hen Party to Prague and being mistaken for the stripper…’ Martin doubled over a little, laughing to himself.
‘They didn’t.’
‘They did! Quarter of an hour of trying to convince them otherwise, and they still wouldn’t believe me.’
‘You should have just done it,’ Molly told him. ‘Think of the tips!’
‘They wouldn’t have let me!’ Martin wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. ‘I had three of them shouting “take it off” and the rest of them bellowing for me to keep it on. The Maid of Honour kept demanding her £70 back.’
‘Then, she’s an idiot. Seventy quid’s a bargain. Do you take American Express?’
‘Wherever would I swipe it?’
They collapsed into laughter again.
‘Tell you what,’ added Martin through drunken giggles, ‘£10 cash and I’ll undo my shirt buttons and dance around a bit.’
‘I need that tenner for my taxi to the station,’ replied Molly. ‘What’ll £4.50 get me?’
‘A song?’ Martin suggested. ‘A snog?’
‘You already sang “Hello Molly” to me,’ she reminded him.
‘Of course.’
There was an awkward pause. He seemed to be no closer to accepting or rejecting – possibly not even understanding - the hint. She fished the coins out of her purse and held them out to him.
‘Oh, look, an extra 50p,’ she said. ‘Do I get tongue for that?’
He reached out, closed her fist around her money and pushed her hand down to her side. Then, he leaned forwards and hesitantly brushed his lips against hers. She kissed back, firmer.
It was a short, sweet kiss that he pulled away from, quickly. She could practically see him drumming up the courage before he launched himself into a second, far more enthusiastic kiss.
As much as she tried to not compare kissing Martin with how she’d imagined kissing Sherlock would be, a part of her just couldn’t help it. Whenever she’d fantasised about Sherlock, she’d imagined kisses that were perfectly calculated. Precise. Crafted. Performed. Even in her daydreams of wish fulfilment, she could never picture the kisses being without an ulterior motive. She’d imagined kisses that were all style, and no heart.
Martin, she decided, quickly, was the opposite. His kisses were a little too wet, and were hot with alcohol, and he didn’t seem very sure about what to do with his tongue. It reminded her of drunken snogs at the Student’s Union bar, back in her teens. But he meant it. She was in no doubt about that. 4 out of 10 for technique, which could be worked on – full marks for substance.
A loud ‘Woy Oy’ snapped them both out of the kiss. Three swaggering men in their twenties jeered as they passed, trailing a pair of meaty, bare legged young women along with them.
‘Don’t fancy yours much, Darling,’ cackled one of the unfortunately mini-skirted women as they trotted off in the direction of the pub.
‘I…’ began Molly, but Martin’s attention was on the road behind her.
‘There’s a taxi.’
They waved it over together.
‘Places to go,’ she sighed. ‘People to autopsy.’ She gave him another quick kiss. ‘I’ll text you.’
‘Maybe next time I end up in Central London…’ started Martin.
‘I’d love that,’ smiled Molly.
-x-
He waited until the taxi had pulled off before making his way to the Travelodge Carolyn had booked for them. He avoided the pub where he knew Douglas and Arthur would be having dinner. He’d field off Douglas’ double entendres and Arthur’s single entendres in the morning. At that point he was too drunk and giddy and confused to deal with them straight away. He went to his room and took a shower. He thought about that kiss, and how much he wanted to do it again – which was a lot. He thought back to her horrifying anecdotes, and how they made his own anecdotes pale in comparison, and how good it had felt to laugh off his misfortunes. He thought, despite himself, about this Other-Him, this person who could not be named – whose name he didn’t particularly want to know, actually, because he wasn’t at all impressed by what he’d heard of his behaviour, running around carelessly breaking laws and hearts, all the time doing so with Martin’s face.
Something else bothered him about that, too. Something that Molly had said, that just didn’t add up. He finished in the shower, got out and wiped the condensation from the mirror. He saw the same face staring back through the steam that he’d always seen. The same assortment of facial features that just didn’t seem to sit right together; like, he’d always thought, somebody looking at his self in a spoon. Taking the reflection in, he grimaced, which just made it worse.
He repeated the bothersome word to himself, incredulously.
‘”Gorgeous”…?’
Part 4
