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She forced a smile to her face while wishing she could vaporise their lairy co-workers.

      ‘You can say that again,’ he muttered.

       ‘Phwoar, I sense some DNA sampling is going to happen in the Baxter lab tonight!’

      Ewan grimaced – not in a good way. Suddenly, he looked like someone had stuck a ruler up his bottom. ‘Molly, I’m sorry …’

      ‘That’s OK. I guess we can both handle them.’

      ‘No, I meant … I’m really sorry but I don’t think this is such a good idea. I guess I’d better go. I was offered a lift in the minibus and I think I should be on it. Team bonding eh? You know I have to be in the lab first thing tomorrow.’

      What? He was bailing out? Just because of a few crass comments from a bunch of drunken knobheads?

      ‘You are joking?’ Molly refused to let him off the hook.

      ‘No. I mean, I have the press to deal with – they want interviews about the … er … MBE thing. Look, do you have a lift home? I can call you a cab if you like?’

      A chilly wave of nausea washed over her, mixed with growing anger. Had he got cold feet because of a bit of banter from a bunch of drunken nerds? ‘I’m fine,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m getting a lift with my sister.’

      ‘Good. Um. Well, thank you for the dance … I um, think you’d better let go of me now.’

      Molly snatched her hands from his bum as if it was a red-hot potato.

      Ewan reddened. ‘Goodnight. Um, see you tomorrow?’

      She simmered with shame and anger. ‘Actually, Ewan, no, you won’t because tomorrow – technically today – is New Year’s Day and I’m going to spend it throwing up, enjoying a splitting headache and crying at Ghost like normal people, so Happy New Year and congratulations, Boss.’

      Ewan’s lips parted, closed, then he threw her one last guilty glance and walked off the dance floor, trailing silly string.

      She closed her eyes but she couldn’t shut her ears to the cries of ‘What? Changed your mind, mate?’

      When she opened her eyes, Ewan and his stupid sodding kilt and brain-dead groupies were gone. At least, she told herself, she could get the walk of shame over with now, rather than in the morning. But if she had gone home with Ewan, her walk of shame would at least have been from his bed – or hers – to the bathroom, not across the canteen, in the full glare of the remaining staff who’d all seen her get blown off by their boss. She glanced at her shoes, covered in sticky string and shiny confetti and at the ladder in her black seamed stockings and the six-inch tear in the hem of the nurse’s outfit.

      Well, Happy Sodding New Year to her.

      Sarah met her at the edge of the dance floor, holding Molly’s coat. ‘Oh God, please tell me that wasn’t what it looked like.’

      ‘I’m afraid it was. I should have known it was all too good to be true! Ewan Baxter is only interested in one thing and that’s the bottom of a bloody petri dish!’

      Sarah draped her coat around her shoulders and squeezed them slightly. ‘Come on, hon, the sooner we get out of here the better.’

      ‘You’re absolutely right,’ said Molly, as a fresh wave of nausea swept over her. Once outside, the raw cold of a Cambridge winter night took her breath away. The wind gusted up her skirt and sleet blew in their faces as they walked across the faculty car park, Molly’s heels sliding dangerously in the wet slush.

      Sarah put her arm around her. ‘It’s for the best you know. Sleeping with your boss is never a great idea. He’s obviously a sociopath. Wouldn’t you rather it had ended now before you woke up in his flat and had to do the walk of shame?’

      Molly thought of Ewan, naked except for the kilt, frying bacon at her cooker.

      ‘No.’

      ‘OK. Well, it could have been worse. I suppose. If I hadn’t waited to make sure whether you’d pulled Ewan, you might have been going home on the minibus with a bunch of pissed geeks.’

      Molly bit her lip and told herself to lighten up. Sarah didn’t need her moaning on a night when she’d had such good news to share. ‘Yeah … thanks, Sarah. I’m sorry if I’ve spent half the evening mooning over Ewan bloody Baxter but it won’t happen again. I’ve learned my lesson … Did you get hold of Niall by the way? I bet you can’t wait to share your news.’ She forced a smile to her face, reminding herself that she was going to be an auntie and how amazing that would be.

      Sarah grimaced. ‘No. His phone was off but it is his busiest night of the year and he probably didn’t take a break at all. I just wanted to know he’s OK, with all the drunks – the extra drunks – around tonight. Since one of his colleagues was stabbed in that pub on Christmas Eve, I guess I’m paranoid.’

      ‘No, you’re just worried but he’ll be OK. Niall knows how to handle himself.’

      ‘Yeah, you’re right and you never know, when he’s sobered up, Ewan might realise what he’s just missed. He could be on the phone to you in the morning.’

      ‘Yeah, and I’ve probably won the Nobel Prize.’

      Sarah flicked the remote at the car and the sidelights winked. ‘It’s not as if that was your only chance. You’ll be back at work soon and you can be together every day of your life.’

      As she was about to climb into Sarah’s Fiesta, an icy blast blew straight down Molly’s cleavage. ‘It’s the scar, isn’t it? It’s the elephant in the room.’

      ‘Molly,’ Sarah said wearily, the way that Molly remembered their mother doing. ‘You have a teeny tiny scar that is barely noticeable and with the amount of booze Ewan has got down his neck tonight, I doubt he can even find his own balls let alone notice a scar on your face. He’s a tosser who doesn’t deserve another minute’s thought. Now, let’s get you home and into bed.’

      ‘I know. I know. I wish Ewan could be like Niall.’

      ‘Ni’s not perfect, not by a long shot.’ Sarah smiled.

      ‘But he is about to be a daddy.’ Molly reached over and hugged Sarah, desperately trying to fight back the post-party, post-Ewan tears. ‘Phone me in the morning. I’m dying to hear what he says.’

       CHAPTER FIVE

      After dropping off Molly at her flat, Sarah drove out of the city towards Fenham. It was bitterly cold, a typical Fenland night. Frost glittered like a trillion rhinestones on the pavements and as her headlights swept over the roadside, the fields glowed blue-white under the moon.

      As she negotiated the icy roads, Sarah thought the fens had never looked more beautiful but she also felt guilty for feeling so happy when Molly was so miserable. They’d been like two balloons on the way home: Sarah about to go pop with excitement and Molly shrivelled up with misery and the start of a killer hangover.

      Despite how long it had lasted, Sarah hadn’t really taken Molly’s crush on Ewan Baxter too seriously until that evening. Molly had had a lot of crushes over the years, usually short-lived and never very heavy. She’d ignored all the boys at school but had a few flings while she was at university, including one with an English Literature student and another with the captain of the university cricket team. Then there’d been the Australian who’d lasted a year on and off while Molly was studying for her PhD.

      Sarah had thought he’d be The One for Molly and they’d shared a house together for a while but he’d gone back to Sydney. Molly had cried for a week but then thrown herself back into her research, landing a post-doc place in the prestigious Baxter lab.

      Since then, there had been nothing very serious, although

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