Love is the Drug. Ashley Croft
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.’
Molly put her finger on her lips. ‘Shh … You can’t get infected by it, it’s a hormone and it has to be specially tailored to your DNA and delivered in a very specific way. I could get the sack for telling you about it but it isn’t a “bug”. Look, can we talk