Tyres roll and crunch over the gravel drive of Fernbank Cottage, and I wonder if Mathias has ordered takeaway. It’s a little early for takeaway, but it’s the off season and we’ve spent all morning in bed sucking each other’s dicks, and I’m hungry, so he’s probably starving.
Mathias is always in the mood for potatoes, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had Deliveroo drop cheesy chips or garlic croquets to the cottage at seeminglyrandom hours.
When I glance out the window, I expect to see a moped with a box on the back. Instead, there’s a black 2019 Renault Clio, and a twenty-one-year-old Molly Bosley is climbing out of the driver’s side.
I run to meet her at the door.
“Dad, oh my god, when did you buy a Range Rover?” She casts her eyes over me and comes to an awkward stop at the bottom of the steps.
I remember I’m only wearing boxers and an ancient Massive Attack T-shirt, but greet her as though I’m fully clothed. “Hi, poppet.”
Molly pointedly glances at her watch. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Why aren’t you dressed?”
I don’t answer her question because the truth would make her gag. “What are you doing back already?”
“My final exam was yesterday,” she says. She follows me through the cottage into the kitchen. Her eyes linger on Mathias’s cinema screen TV, but she doesn’t comment.
I flick the kettle on. “You didn’t fancy staying a while longer and celebrating?” I get three mugs out of the cupboard.
“Nah, we went out last night for dinner, and I just wanted to come home.”
I feel warm and fuzzy at her words and pull her into a rib-cracking hug. Molly has never been into cuddles, much like Mathias, and very much unlike Daisy and me.
Overhead, the toilet flush sounds, and minutes later, Mathias walks into the kitchen. I had also forgotten he was wearing underpants, and only underpants.
“I just had the most satisfying shit of my entire l—” he begins, spots Molly, freezes. “Good fucking lord.”
“Mathias Jones!” Molly says on an inward breath. Her eyes bounce over his body, no doubt searching for a safe place to land. She doesn’t find any, and jerks her gaze towards the kitchen bin. She forgets to exhale.
I’m blushing. Flames lick up my neck and cheeks. She’s essentially caught Mathias and me in a not-safe-for-work state of undress and has put two and two together. “Molly, this is Mathias Jones . . . my . . . friend. Matt, this is Molly.”
Molly squeaks a hello without looking up, and when Mathias speaks, all his words have mushed together.
“Hi it’s-really-nice-to-meet-you-I’ve-heard-so-much-about-you-let-me-just-go-upstairs-and-get-dressed-please-thank-you-be-right-back.” And then he’s off, jogging up the stairs again.
“Hey, Wild Card? Can you grab my jeans on your way?” I call up after him.
Molly groans and slaps herself in the face. “This isn’t happening,” she mumbles to herself and then pries her palm away and looks at me.
“You should have called. Then I could’ve at least put on some trousers,” I say.
“I thought it’d be a nice surprise. But I forgot about this honeymoon phase you’re in.”
I laugh it off. I can’t deny anything, and there’s no point hiding the truth from Molly if Daisy and Lando and the entire village already know. “So, why are you here and not at Mum’s? Don’t get me wrong, I’m chuffed to bits you came back here first, but Mum’s got all the space and the best snacks.”
“I don’t even know. I was on autopilot, I guess. I wanted to see you and Daze, and I figured you’d be here or across the road, and—oh my god! I just remembered you don’t live here any more.”
Mathias returns wearing micro shorts not much longer than his Armani boxers and a silky grey workout tee. He hands me my jeans and I go into the dining room to tug them on.
“Technically, as of two weeks’ time . . . I will be living here again,” I call out. It feels like someone’s punched me in the gut.
Mathias is leaving. We’ve sold enough rematch tickets that we have all the roof money needed, and I’ll move back over the road . . . back here. I don’t want to focus on that part, though. It’s approaching too quickly. “I’ve promised Daze she can have the flat above the pub, so you’re welcome to take your old room again while you wait for your Master’s to start, but you might have to crash at Mum’s for a couple of weeks.”
There’s a sudden itch on the side of Mathias’s head which needs so much urgent attention he has to turn away from us as he scratches it.
“That’s fine, I can stay with Mum and Mark for a bit.” Molly’s brow furrows. “But I’m confused. Are you guys moving in together . . . or?”
“Oh, no, we’re not. Mathias is moving back to Wales.” I try to keep my voice wobble free.