The Years of Loving You. Ella Harper
he’d seen what she’d done. It was, quite simply, amazing.
‘I shall treasure this for ever,’ Ed declared, unpinning the portrait from her easel.
‘You’re so sweet.’
Ed looked affronted. ‘Sweet? Molls. Let me impart some knowledge to you, some wisdom. When it comes to guys, you never tell them they’re sweet. Or cute. Or adorable. Have you got that?’
‘Sweet, cute, adorable, never tell them. Got it.’ Molly cocked an ear. ‘Was that the post?’
‘Crap. I hope not.’
‘It was. Let’s go.’
Molly grabbed Ed’s hand and they headed downstairs together. Molly snatched the envelope from the mat as her parents rushed out of the kitchen.
‘Hello, Edison,’ said Molly’s mother Eleanor, casting her eye over him.
Ed shot a withering glance at Molly. She simply had to go around telling everyone his proper name. He had never known a girl take the piss as much as she did. Cheeky sod.
As they walked into the lounge, Ed suddenly realised why Eleanor was giving him funny looks. He hadn’t put his shirt back on. Shit. What a nobber.
‘Nice to see you, young man,’ said Molly’s father John. ‘I generally wear clothes in company, but each to their own.’
‘Yes. Er, sorry about that. My shirt is upstairs. Molly’s been sketching me …’
‘Quite so, quite so.’ John twinkled at him. ‘Well, Molls. What’s the damage?’
‘I got two A’s and a B!’ Molly shrieked, waving the sheet around. ‘Two A’s! In Art and Literature! I can get into Lincoln with those. Easily!’ Molly was enveloped by her parents, all of them talking and laughing loudly.
Ed felt so proud of Molly. She had such devoted parents, the kind everyone should have. Ed glanced away for a second. No, he wasn’t going to think about it. He hated feeling sorry for himself.
As if on cue, the phone rang and Ed’s stomach shifted. He had never felt more scared in his life. He was nervous of his mother phoning, and he was utterly petrified that what she was about to tell him would mean being far away from Molly.
Eleanor picked the phone up. ‘Yes, she did very well indeed … we’re so proud. Yes, he’s right here … I’ll pass you over …’
Ed took the proffered phone, anxiety kicking in. ‘Er, how did I do?’ He listened and nodded. ‘Right. Thanks for letting me know.’ He put the phone back into its cradle and turned to Molly.
‘Well?’ She wrung her hands. ‘Oh God. You’ve flunked them. You can’t come to Lincoln …’
‘I’m really sorry …’ Ed started.
‘Oh, Ed.’ Molly’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t believe how disappointed she felt. Not in Ed, as such, but on his behalf. On her behalf. Uni wouldn’t be half as much fun if he wasn’t coming with her.
Ed grabbed Molly’s hand. ‘I did it too! Somehow. An A in English Language, a B in Literature and a C in History. But hey, I hated History anyway!’
He clumsily caught Molly as she threw herself into his arms and they danced around like loons.
‘We must call Tom and tell him the news. Your brother will be so pleased for you, Molly,’ Eleanor said, picking up the phone again. ‘John, open that champagne, would you? We need to make a toast.’
‘This is brilliant,’ Molly said, when they’d finally stopped jumping around. ‘Just brilliant. We’re going to uni together. We can share a place and everything. Well, maybe – although my friend Jody wants to get a place together. But we can hang out all the time.’
‘Well done, Edison,’ Eleanor said warmly. ‘I’m so pleased for you. And for Molly. She so wanted to go to uni with you.’
As Eleanor hugged him, Ed felt John’s watchful eyes on him. Dads were always harder to impress. Dads and their daughters, it was a special relationship. And Ed knew John was suspicious of his motives, he didn’t quite buy the whole ‘friends’ thing. Whether or not he knew the thoughts that went through Ed’s head was by the by, but either way, John was Molly’s father. Which meant that he would fight to the death for her. And kill anyone who hurt her. Ed understood that. He felt irrationally protective of Molly himself.
John handed him a glass, and Ed clinked it against Molly’s, dismissing the feelings of trepidation in his gut. Could he do this? Was he actually going to be allowed to go to university, to move away from home? Ed was desperate to forge some sort of life for himself.
It would be fine. Ed steeled himself. Everything would be fine. He had to go. He needed to get his degree, to have fun and to just throw off the shackles a bit. Not completely, just a bit. He watched Molly excitedly outlining university plans with her parents. He envied the easy relationship she had with them, but he liked it. He enjoyed being part of her world. It was easy and loving and something to be admired.
To be part of it was all that he really wanted …
Ed pulled himself back to the present and realised his mother was chattering away to him still.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
Florrie narrowed her eyes. ‘God, I hate it when I talk to you and you don’t bloody well listen.’ She sounded like a petulant child. ‘Anyway. Shouldn’t you go and pack?’
Ed frowned. ‘I’m not going until next week.’
‘Oh, really?’ Florrie looked disgruntled. ‘I said Michael could use your room as an office, you see. Sorry, I just assumed that you would be leaving sooner rather than later. No matter; it can wait.’
That was it, then. Decision made. Ed got to his feet. ‘That’s fine, Mum. I can go down early, find a house, meet some people.’ He was shocked that his mother was moving Michael in so soon, but she was a grown woman. And at least Michael seemed like a nice guy – from the little Ed had seen of him – one who had genuine feelings for his mother. Maybe this was all going to work out after all.
‘I’ll go pack,’ he said. ‘I can be out of your hair by tomorrow morning.’
‘Good, good.’ Florrie sounded vague again. ‘Bye then.’
‘Bye, Mum,’ he answered her, even though he was sure he would see her in the morning before he left.
Ed tore upstairs, feeling strangely elated. Life was looking up. Michael was moving in, which made him feel far better about leaving his mother. Maybe he was finally going to be able to live his life.
He resolved then and there to make the most of every second of university. He made a pact with himself not to rely on his memory any longer. To apply himself the way Molly did. He owed it to himself. His life was finally about to begin.
‘So. Tell me about the symptoms again,’ Sam said, taking Molly’s hands.
Molly tried not to sigh. They were currently sitting in bed going over and over the details. Again. They had done this a number of times now and Molly was feeling exhausted. She understood why Sam was doing this; it was his way of coping. He was a person who got to grips with something by gathering as much information as possible in order to make sense of it. It was all part of his process. Molly knew that Sam would spend considerable time after their discussions ordering books about early-onset Parkinson’s, scouring the internet for data and immersing himself in the subject so deeply he would practically be able to take an exam on it.
‘Primary motor symptoms are tremors, slowness, stiffness, balance problems.’ Molly leant back against the headboard. She was beginning