Read the book: «Love is the Drug»

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Discover More by Phillipa Ashley

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

‘Sarah. I’m sure you’ll think this is a very stupid question, but have you any idea what your sister is doing crawling under the rhododendrons?’

Sarah Havers sighed and put down the earring she’d been trying to finish for the past hour. One was already complete and lay on the felt mat on the kitchen table. The earrings were delicate drops fitted with three tiny shells in summery blues and seaweedy greens. Sarah was making them for her sister Molly’s birthday, although Molly – currently stuck under a bush in the garden – didn’t know it.

Their mother, Naomi, was standing in the open doorway that led from the kitchen to the rear garden of their house. It was early April but her mum was wearing a silky shift dress and a thin cropped jacket and the chilly evening breeze – which blew straight from the Urals to Cambridge, according to an urban myth – was making Sarah’s fingers too cold to work.

Her mum peered into the lengthening shadows of the garden. ‘Oh no, she’s disappeared now. We’re going to be late.’ She stepped down onto the patio. ‘Molly Jane Havers! Come out of there this minute.’

Trying to block out the noise, Sarah picked up the earring and focused on teasing shut the wire loop with her pliers. Even though she’d made countless pairs, the job still required concentration and all the distractions were doing her head in. On the other hand, it was fun to hear her younger sister treated like a toddler.

Their mother groaned in frustration. ‘What on earth is she doing out there?’

‘Trying to catch a frog, probably,’ Sarah muttered, sticking out her tongue in concentration as she focused on the earring. The loop was almost closed. One. More. Tiny … tweak would do it.

‘A frog? God, no. What does she want a frog for?’

‘Dunno. I think she wants to cut it up at school.’

‘What? You’re joking?’

Sarah cursed as her pliers crushed the delicate wire into a pretzel. ‘Oh, shit!’

‘Sarah, stop swearing,’ her mother called but she was already on her way onto the lawn. Her voice rose higher. ‘Molly! Stop that. Leave that poor creature alone.’

With a sigh, Sarah laid down her pliers next to the wire and beads. She should really be revising for her upcoming A levels, but creating jewellery from shimmering shells and beads was far more fascinating than poring over Business Studies papers. She got up and stood in the doorway, peering out into the shadows.

Her mum’s new heels sank into the turf as she tottered over to the bush, which Molly was crawling out of backwards like a demented crab. Sarah rolled her eyes as her sister scrambled to her feet, brushing blossom and leaves from a sweatshirt with a graphic photo of a giant tarantula on the chest.

Sarah despaired. Her younger sister was a fully paid-up member of the Geek Club. Seeing that horrific sweatshirt and her dirty jeans, Sarah wondered if Molly would even wear the earrings that she’d been making for her upcoming fifteenth birthday. Judging by Molly’s taste for things that crawled and skittered, the earrings ought to have featured snails and tarantulas, but shells and starfish were as far as Sarah was prepared to go. She went inside as Molly trudged to the house, their mum tottering after her.

Molly leaned against the kitchen worktop and Naomi folded her arms. ‘Molly. Is it true you want a frog to dissect? Please tell me now,’ she said.

Molly laughed. ‘Shit, no. Not to dissect, anyway. To study.’

‘You can’t take a live frog to school and please stop swearing.’

Molly slid a sly glance at Sarah. ‘Maybe I could take Sarah’s hamster instead?’

Sarah shrieked. ‘You dare!’

Their mum groaned. ‘Girls. For God’s sake, will you please hurry up and get ready? Dad and I have to leave very soon or we’ll be late for our very special anniversary dinner.’

‘I was only joking about Roger,’ said Molly, as their mother locked the back door.

Sarah snorted. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’

Molly gave a smug grin and pointed at Sarah. ‘Ah. Got you. Actually, I wasn’t after a frog, I was looking for my cuddly Ebola germ.’ She turned to her mother who was brushing pollen off her new dress. ‘Sarah’s been winding you up, Mum.’

‘Maybe but I’m not the one with fox poo on her jeans,’ Sarah shot back, angry for letting herself fall for Molly’s teasing.

Molly glanced down at her muddy jeans. ‘What? Shit!’

Their father stuck his head around the kitchen door. ‘Molly. Can you not use that word quite so often, and can everyone get a move on, please?’

‘I am trying, Will,’ said their mum, then caught sight of her feet. ‘Oh shit, look at my new heels. They’re covered in mud and grass. I’ll have to clean them before we set off for Carol’s.’

‘Can you not use that word quite so often, Mum?’ said Molly, picking a biscuit out of the barrel. Sarah tried not to giggle. She could strangle Molly sometimes but her one-liners were very funny.

‘Molly, don’t try to be too smart,’ said their dad and tapped his watch. ‘The traffic will be murder if we don’t get a move on. It is our anniversary, after all. The first time we get a weekend away from the girls in years and we might be late.’

‘Yes, it is our twentieth wedding anniversary,’ said their mother, emphasising the words in a dramatic way. ‘And we’re off to a very posh hotel for the weekend if we can ever get our daughters to leave the house.’

‘OK, OK. Enough with the guilt trip. I get the message,’ said Sarah, rolling the pliers and other tools up into their felt case.

‘Thank you,’ said her father. ‘Now, I’m going to pack the car and I expect everyone to be ready by the time I’m finished.’

Ignoring her father, Molly’s bottom lip jutted. ‘I do not have fox shit on my jeans,’ she said mutinously.

‘Ha. Got you,’ Sarah said with a triumphant grin that she knew would drive Molly mad.

‘Molly, wash your hands and change your jeans,’ her mum said.

‘It’s not fox poo. It’s only mud.’

‘I don’t care. You can’t go to Auntie Carol’s in filthy clothes. Go upstairs, get changed and hurry up.’

Sarah snorted.

‘And you, Sarah, can tidy all your junk away and make sure you have your overnight stuff. I don’t want to have to come back because you’ve forgotten your phone or your pyjamas or something.’

‘It is not junk!’ Sarah protested.

‘You know what I mean,’ said her mum, adding an indulgent smile that did nothing to soothe Sarah’s ruffled feathers.

‘My bag has been ready for hours, Mum,’ said Sarah. ‘Unlike Mol, who hasn’t even started packing. And I don’t see why I have to stay at Auntie Carol’s tonight. I’m eighteen. I could stay here on my own and I’d be fine. I could have mates over for the evening or I could have gone with Tilly to Ibiza. It’s Molly who needs the babysitter.’

Molly gasped. ‘No, I do not. You’re the one who’d end up in A&E or a police cell if you were left on her own. I’m the responsible one. Everyone knows I’d have my head in a book the whole time Mum and Dad were away.’

‘More like blow up the whole house and experiment on Roger,’ said Sarah.

‘I love Roger. He’s my hamster too.’

‘This is pointless because I’m not letting either of you stay here on your own,’ said their mother, rubbing at the heel of her shoe with a piece of kitchen paper.

‘I can manage without you and Dad, you know. I’m not a little girl,’ Sarah muttered, knowing she was pushing her luck.

Their mother stuck her hands on her hips. ‘No, but I’m turning into a very old lady waiting here. Get your stuff, both of you, and get into the car!’

Twenty minutes later, Will Havers drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the girls to finally climb into the car. The engine was running as Sarah shoved her overnight case into the boot and Molly climbed in behind their mother, clutching her rucksack to her chest. Sarah shut the car door, fastened her seat belt and stared pointedly out of the window. Maybe, she thought, watching raindrops gently spatter the window, she wouldn’t give Molly the earrings after all.

As they drove the short distance to Auntie Carol’s, their parents turned on Radio Five. Sarah risked a sideways glance at Molly who had her nose stuck in a thick paperback entitled Guns, Germs and Steel.

Sarah shook her head. Guns, Germs and Steel? What was that all about, for God’s sake? Molly was barely fifteen. Why wasn’t she into Sweet Valley High or Twilight like Sarah had been? Her sister really was weird, sometimes. Not the gifted genius everyone said, just a freak.

Unexpectedly, Molly glanced up and their gazes met. Molly’s light blue eyes were innocent and amused. Her light brown hair, which reminded Sarah of runny honey, was secured in a messy ponytail with a pink elastic band. She’d changed into ripped but clean jeans and was still wearing the disgusting spider sweatshirt. Somehow, she still managed to look terrifyingly pretty. In fact, Molly could have worn a sack and still been stunning. Sarah knew that most of the boys in the sixth form, let alone those in Molly’s year, would have given their right arms to date her.

Sarah returned her gaze to the scenery outside the window but the reflection showed Molly’s slim wrists as she turned the page of the book. A bracelet would look beautiful on her, especially if Molly wore the new blue dress she’d chosen for her birthday from Oasis. Maybe Sarah would make her a bracelet to match the earrings … because no matter how annoying and weird Molly could be, Sarah couldn’t help but love her. And no matter how much she longed to leave school and start her jewellery design course, she was secretly dreading the idea of leaving home and being so far away from her family.

Her parents had promised to support her in doing an arty course in Falmouth, so far away from Cambridge. She knew that they were keen to be even-handed with both daughters and they’d let her know that they took her hopes and ambitions as seriously as Molly’s, who was a shoo-in for Oxbridge with her precocious talent for science. She’d make new friends, obviously, but the thought of not having Molly to tease and to guide – Molly needed a lot of guidance – and to share a joke, was scary.

Ever since she could remember, Molly had been a part of her life, like a limb or a vital organ. Her mother had told her that when she first saw Molly in the incubator at the hospital, Sarah had stroked her tiny finger and asked if she would die after a couple of years like their latest hamster. Sarah had apparently cried real tears when her mum had said that Molly was here to stay, as long as Sarah herself – and almost as long as them.

At the traffic lights, Mr Havers twisted round, a grin on his face. ‘Everyone OK? No one feeling sick?’

‘Molly, is it a great idea to read in the back of the car? You know what these roads on the way to Carol’s do to you,’ their mother added.

‘If we weren’t going to Carol’s, Molly wouldn’t feel sick,’ Sarah muttered, her mind still on the impending change in her life.

Molly calmly turned a page. ‘I don’t feel sick.’

‘And are you OK?’ her mother asked Sarah.

Sarah let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘Of course I am, Mum.’

Their mother exchanged a knowing glance with their father. ‘Good. I’m glad everybody’s happy so your father and I can leave you with Auntie Carol and not worry. You will have a lovely time, you know, and Dad and I can enjoy ourselves knowing you’re safe and happy. OK, girls?’

‘Yes, Mum,’ they chorused from the back seat.

‘Great. Now all’s right in the world, we can all relax.’

The girls exchanged their own knowing smiles. There was a roll of the eyes from Sarah and an answering tut from Molly that said far more than words. Their gestures were acknowledgement of a bond that no sisterly spat could break. If she could find one at the bead shop, she might even put a little silver frog on the necklace.

Mol wasn’t all bad and her sharp tongue was very funny. Plus, Auntie Carol was a laugh when she was in a good mood and let the girls have a glass or two of Chardonnay and watch Skins as long as they didn’t tell their parents. And her course in Falmouth would be cool, once she got used to it, and she might meet a surfer and have sex on the beach and start her own boutique jewellery business after uni … and they’d soon be at Auntie Carol’s. She pulled out her new phone and scrolled through her texts. There was a lot to look forward to. An awful lot.

*

Later, much much later, Sarah couldn’t remember if Molly had screamed before Sarah had looked up from her phone or the other way around. Snatches of their journey came back to her, like jumbled-up pieces of a jigsaw that had tumbled onto the carpet. In the days and weeks that followed, Sarah kept finding new pieces at random, trying to put them together in a picture but never having all the bits at one time.

She remembered something about a surfer and a frog and the shops blurring into one another outside the car window. She recalled hearing the traffic report about chaos on the A14, then a roar and a shout from Molly. And then lights: blinding bright lights. Purply white and violet pulses that made her skull ache and her brain throb. In the snatches of consciousness after the accident, she remembered Auntie Carol sitting next to her bed, holding her hand, with mascara running down her face. And she remembered asking where Molly and her parents were but all Auntie Carol would say was: ‘I’m sorry, love. Oh God, I’m sorry.’

CHAPTER ONE

Almost thirteen years later

New Year’s Eve

Department of Behavioural Ecology, Fenland University

Dr Molly Havers slid off her stool and sashayed over to the fridge. She’d gone to town this evening and made a special effort with her outfit. White plastic onesie, safety glasses and sky-blue accessories. Well, it was a special occasion. How could he possibly resist?

She pulled out a small plastic pot and minced across the lab to her boss’s workstation. ‘Here you are, Professor Baxter. One pot of gorilla semen, as you requested.’

Ewan Baxter didn’t so much as lift his eyes from his keyboard. ‘Is it fresh?’ he growled, sounding not unlike a gorilla himself.

‘Of course it’s fresh, I made it myself,’ said Molly, aiming for an ironically sexy purr.

Ewan swivelled round on his stool and peered at her through his safety glasses as if Molly was one of his samples. ‘I hope you’re not developing a throat infection, Dr Havers, because if so, you know the rules. You shouldn’t be in the lab putting your co-workers at risk, not to mention jeopardising this project.’

Molly resisted the urge to throw the semen over Ewan. ‘I don’t have a throat infection.’

Ewan frowned. ‘Are you sure? You look a bit flushed and you sound pretty rough too.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Actually, I was only trying to be sarcastic.’

‘That’s a relief, but I’d appreciate it if you tried not to be so sarcastic in future. You had me worried for a moment.’ His expression was deadpan.

‘In case I was ill?’ asked Molly.

‘No. In case you ruined our work. You know we can’t afford to let any rogue bacteria in here. Can I have the semen, now, please?’

Molly slapped the pot onto his nitrile glove, knowing the gleam of desire in his eyes wasn’t for her, but the pot of gorilla jizz that had been flown in a week ago at vast expense from an animal conservation project in Rwanda. ‘And I promise to try not to be so sarcastic in future,’ she said, even more sarcastically.

Ewan’s eyebrows lifted, the way they did when he’d read a scientific paper he’d been asked to peer-review and was about to rip to shreds. ‘That would be helpful,’ he said. ‘Or I might have to think about getting a research assistant who’s more respectful. Thank you for passing the semen.’

Molly detected a nano-smile before he returned his attention to his work. He was joking about getting a new assistant, of course, because Molly knew he had a sense of humour. Unfortunately, it was often so well hidden you needed an electron microscope to find it. Then again, maybe it was a good thing that Ewan was so dour he made a high court judge look frivolous. It would be excruciating to be working on the “Love Bug” project with a boss who pumped out innuendos to rival a Carry On film.

Molly went back to her own desk and her work on the Love Bug, a name that had stuck after one of the lab technicians had seen an old film on the TV and joked about it to Ewan and Molly. The top-secret project was a revolutionary hormone designed to help humans bond. Theoretically, it could make two individuals fall in love with each other. Theoretically.

Ewan wasn’t amused – as always – about his complex work being reduced to a “sound bite”. Molly thought he was right about one thing: the Love Bug wasn’t accurate because the bonding agent was actually a synthetic hormone, not a “bug” or bacteria and definitely not a “love potion”.

Ewan would have hit the roof if anyone described their precious project in such romantic terms. Well, thought Molly as she looked down her microscope, it had certainly been proven scientifically that Ewan didn’t have a romantic gene in his body. She’d lost count of the times that Sarah had told her Ewan was a lost cause and that there “were plenty more fish in the sea”. Sarah had taken on the role of surrogate mother since their parents had been killed in the accident on the way to Auntie Carol’s, even after Molly had ceased to need parental guidance where men were concerned. However, Molly thought – glancing over at him, oblivious to anything except the semen – maybe she did have a point about Ewan.

She tried to focus on her own samples but then caught sight of the time on the laptop. It was half past six on the party night of the year and what was she doing? Smearing gorilla jizz onto a sliver of glass. That wasn’t normal behaviour by anyone’s standards, not even a dedicated research scientist such as herself.

‘Did you know the solitary confinement cells at Alcatraz were designed to face the mainland so the prisoners could actually hear the sounds of revelry in San Francisco?’ she muttered.

‘Sorry?’ said Ewan, hunched over his microscope.

‘I said I was thinking of ripping off all my clothes and running down the corridor shouting, “I’m a badass babe.”’

‘Mm. Of course.’

‘Ewan?’

He swivelled round again. ‘Yes, Molly?’

His eyes met hers through their safety glasses. Perhaps a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but it disappeared so fast, she must have imagined it and the Baxter lab, of course, was no place for imagination.

‘It’s getting late. Do you mind if I call it a day and get ready for the party?’ Molly said.

He frowned. ‘The party?’

She pulled off her glasses. ‘Yes, Ewan, the party. It’s New Year’s Eve if you hadn’t noticed.’

He took off his own glasses and blinked. Molly’s determination to hate him from now on, melted like butter in a pan. Despite his name, wherever Ewan’s genes had originated from, it wasn’t Scotland or anywhere within a thousand miles. He had dark brown hair, not red or blond, and his eyes were the colour of strong espresso, rather than the blue or green a geneticist would have expected. Somewhere along the way, Ewan’s ancestors had coupled up with a tribe from the Mediterranean – and a pretty hot one at that.

‘Surely, you hadn’t forgotten?’ she asked.

‘No. No, of course I hadn’t.’

‘Are you going? It starts at eight, you know.’

‘Um. I don’t know yet.’

Molly bit back a gasp of exasperation. The party, and the potential for getting pissed, was her one hope of persuading Ewan to let his hair down.

‘Well, it’s up to you, of course, but everyone will be expecting you,’ she said, turning her back on him and unzipping her onesie. ‘Especially after this morning …’

Ewan pulled a face.

‘Well, when you get awarded the MBE in the New Year’s Honours List, people want to celebrate.’

He grimaced again. Ewan might not have a sexual response but he also didn’t have an ego and had refused to accept that he was responsible for the lab’s pioneering work into parent and baby bonding among primates.

‘I suppose I’d better put in an appearance, if only to thank everyone who helped us win the gong. I can always come back to the lab when I’ve shown my face and it will be quiet as everyone will be at the party.’

‘The Love Bug will still be here tomorrow …’ said Molly, in despair.

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.

‘The fancy-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

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

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.’

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 about something else? Please?’

‘Like Ewan?’

Molly nodded, relieved and happier than was probably healthy. Or normal. Or smart. Sarah was right, she was probably a tiny bit obsessed, or worse, maybe she was a teeny bit in love with him.

‘Look, he is single right? And straight from what you’ve told me?’

‘Divorced. His wife lives with a barrister in Dulwich according to one of the lab assistants. His workaholism was why they split up. Apparently.’

‘Single, then, with a bit of baggage, but you can work through that. Also, straight, in that case, unless that’s why he split up with her?’

‘Oh, he’s straight.’ Molly surprised herself with her own vehemence. She did know Ewan was straight, even though all the recent evidence was against it. ‘Though it’s feasible that he could be asexual, I suppose …’

Sarah laughed. ‘I doubt it. Look, it’s New Year’s Eve and even though I hate to swell your ego, you’re the most gorgeous girl in the room. Why don’t you just go and ask Professor McDreamy if he wants to dance?’

‘Dance? Are you mad?’

‘Only as crazy as you are if you don’t take your chance while he a: doesn’t have his face glued to a microscope and b: is probably a bit pissed. Go on, ask him. Otherwise, shut up and come and dance with me. It’s New Year’s Eve and as you know, I don’t get out much so I’m bloody well going to make the most of tonight.’

‘Oh God, Sarah, I’m a selfish bitch, going on about Ewan. What a shame Niall couldn’t make the party. It must be shit having to work on New Year’s Eve but Niall’s a hero, and hunky; he loves you to bits. I could hate you, if I didn’t love you to bits as well, hon. I really envy you though.’

‘Gorgeous brilliant “gonna save the world” Dr Molly envies her sister?’

‘I’m not gorgeous – especially not dressed like an extra from Television X – and I doubt I’ll ever save the world but you know what I mean. You have a lovely bloke who’s crazy about you and would do anything for you.’

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without him; he’s stuck with me through thick and thin, mostly thin for the past year.’

‘You don’t regret leaving the bank to start up the business, do you? You’re so creative. It was time you did something for yourself. By the way, I love the outfit.’

Sarah touched her tiara. ‘I hoped it met the definition of movie hero. I thought coming as Princess Anastasia might be a bit fluffy for this event but then I thought, it might attract some customers.’

Eight assorted biologists were throwing shapes on the dance floor.

‘Even geeks fall in love and get married. Eventually,’ Sarah said, watching them.

Molly wasn’t convinced.

‘But I don’t think they go in for tiaras much. Another?’ said Sarah, pointing to Molly’s empty glass.

‘I think I’d better if I’m going to ask Ewan to dance.’

A few hours later, Molly fished a party popper out of her glass and finished up a large vodka while Sarah went outside to phone Niall during his break. Molly could tell her sister was anxious about him and she didn’t really blame her; Sarah must be desperate to tell Niall about the baby. Sarah looked tired too, and Molly wasn’t pissed enough to ignore the fact that her sister and niece/nephew-to-be really ought to be in bed.

It was well past midnight and there were just a few party people jigging around on the dance floor. She tried to spot Ewan at the bar. The shutters were already down on one side of it and only a couple of people queuing at the other. Ewan had probably gone home; or more likely, back to the lab. The party was over, and so was her opportunity.

Just when she’d given up all hope and was shouldering her handbag ready to join Sarah outside and leave, she swivelled round.

Ewan was right next to her. He looked down at her with a sheepish expression, rubbed his chin and said: ‘So, Dr Havers, would you like to dance?’