The Years of Loving You. Ella Harper

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      ‘Aren’t you going to tell me about constellations and stuff?’ Molly asked, turning her head towards his. He was doing an awful lot of staring. She was flattered, but she did worry that he was dissecting her looks too much. She wasn’t a girl who cared overly about her appearance, not like some of her friends. She liked to look good but as soon as she was dressed, she was off and she didn’t spare it another thought. ‘Go on. Tell me about constellations.’

      ‘As if. How naff would that be?’

      Molly laughed. ‘So naff.’

      Ed inhaled. He could smell her perfume and her hair. He felt an irrational urge to bury his face in her neck but he yanked himself back into line. He reminded himself that Molly was simply a girl. And that he knew tons of girls. If this one didn’t like him, he could quite simply – and easily – find another who did. Yes. Except that, even at his young age, he had figured out that some girls were special and that some just weren’t. Damn Molly for being beyond special.

      ‘They are awesome though, aren’t they?’ Molly pointed. One of them might as well get some constellations named. ‘I mean, look at that. That’s Cassiopeia, that is. From the Perseus family.’

      ‘Is it?’ Ed squinted up at the sky, captivated. ‘You’re very knowledgeable about this stuff. Ha. You just told me about constellations.’

      ‘Aah, but I swot up deliberately to impress boys.’

      He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Are you laughing at me again?’

      ‘Yes.’ She matched his stance, the pose bringing her face close to his. What a beautiful face he had. She found him both fascinating and hellishly attractive. How very dangerous. Molly wasn’t used to being knocked sideways by a boy. So far – and her experience was reasonably limited – she had always been in charge, had always been the one calling the shots. She was a virgin but she wouldn’t dream of telling Ed that. She could tell just by looking at him that he had slept with tons of girls. Which made her feel slightly queasy, but she knew she could hardly judge him for whatever he had done up until now. And boys always did stuff like that.

      Molly wondered why she had gone quiet. She rarely went quiet. She forced herself to say something. ‘I love stargazing. Pretentious though, isn’t it?’

      Ed wasn’t interested in the stars. He was interested in Molly. He studied her. What a heavenly face. Those eyes … slanted, penetrating. A full mouth. Lips he wanted to kiss. Sublime cheekbones, a scar on her chin – a childhood injury? – that prevented her from being conventionally good-looking. Attractive, certainly, but not in an obvious way. Which fascinated him. Molly had a face Ed was suddenly sure he would never tire of looking at.

      ‘So, Ed. What are you going to do with your life?’ Molly bestowed a lovely smile upon him that sent him all over the show. ‘Aspirations, dreams, all that stuff?’

      ‘You’ll laugh at me again.’

      ‘I really won’t. I want to know. Genuinely.’ She moved her bare arm next to his, her hair trailing across his shoulder. He had nice skin. He smelt nice. Basic things, but they were doing less than basic things to various, critical parts of her body.

      Ed wasn’t sure how on earth he was supposed to concentrate with her bare arm leaning against him that way, but he steeled himself. ‘I want to be a writer.’

      ‘Really?’ She was interested now and it showed. ‘What kind?’

      ‘The best kind. Well, in my view. I want to write novels that people talk about. Novels that move people in some way.’

      ‘That’s ace. I love reading. I’m always reading. Well, apart from in the middle of the night, obviously. Although sometimes I am. And my father is … well, he’s an Oxford Don.’

      ‘Is he now?’ Ed played dumb. ‘Now that really is ace.’

      Molly flipped over on to her front, brushing sand from her hands. ‘I imagined you might want to be an actor or something. Looking like that.’

      ‘Like what?’ He turned over as well but moved his head closer to hers. ‘Do you fancy me? Am I handsome?’

      ‘Good grief. You’re so arrogant!’ She shook her head and her curls whipped his face. ‘You’re just really confident. I thought acting might be your bag. Playing on your ego and all that.’

      ‘I’m a man of words,’ Ed stated pompously. God, but he sounded like a wanker. He carried on, regardless. In for a penny and all that. ‘I love words. They’re my life, my passion. I plan to be very successful at it. You’d call it arrogance, I’m sure.’ He grinned. ‘What about you? What’s your passion?’

      ‘Art. I want to be an artist. A great, great artist.’ Molly ducked her head, feeling embarrassed. ‘Now I sound arrogant. But anyway. Uni is the plan. Lincoln,maybe.’

      ‘No way!’ Ed grinned. ‘That’s where I want to go. We could end up at the same uni! Imagine.’

      ‘Gosh. We might have to talk to one another every day.’

      Molly smiled again and Ed felt something expand in his chest. And in his groin. Shit. Could he be any more uncool? He just hoped he was hiding his ardour. Being on his front might start feeling uncomfortable soon.

      ‘Tell me about your art,’ he said, desperately trying to quell his urges.

      Molly hadn’t noticed his ‘urges’. If she had, she might have felt better about what happened later. Instead, she obliged. She waxed lyrical about art for a long time and he managed to join in, despite not knowing an awful lot about the subject. But he liked hearing Molly talk about it – she was passionate, enthused. And that made him want to talk about it as well. After a while, they moved on to novels. They talked about childhood books, about classic literature and about their favourite writers. They discussed Oscar Wilde (consensus: ‘nothing short of a fucking genius’), Shakespeare (‘I call him Willy Shakes,’ Ed told Molly. ‘It’s affectionate.’ ‘It’s rude,’ she retorted, but she laughed accordingly) and they dissected the works of Thomas Hardy (reaching a mutual agreement of ‘turgid’). They talked about universities, about friends, about life and about love. They talked a lot about love – what they thought it was, what it should be, if they had experienced it (Molly, yes – Ed, no) and how long it lasted in general. They talked and talked and talked. For six hours straight.

      ‘We’ve talked for six hours straight,’ Ed commented, glancing at his watch. ‘I am covered in sand; it’s in my hair and everything. And instead of stars providing light and brilliance, we are clothed in early morning sunshine.’

      ‘“Instead of the stars providing light and brilliance”. Oh, I like that.’ Molly sat up and yawned. ‘Six hours? I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone for six hours in my life.’

      In fact she knew she hadn’t. And they had barely paused for breath. It was astonishing. She hadn’t noticed the time and if she had, she might not have cared, even though she was due home and her parents were probably worried sick. Even though she had never done anything like this in her life before. Molly shook sand from her curls.

      ‘I am a bit special,’ Ed answered. Molly had sand in her hair and goose-bumps all over her arms. And she looked stunning. Just beautiful.

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