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with feeding me moussaka every day! Thank GOD for Step Aerobics. And waxing! But you, Molly, you were trying so hard to be different but all you wanted was to have everything that came so easily to other girls: your own sense of style, friends, a boyfriend. You pretended that you hated everything those horrible Heathers from school stood for but I saw the way you looked at them. Even though they were such bitches to us, you wanted to be just like them really. We all did. And Ryan was the ultimate goal. I hate to say this but you changed to fit into his life, and that’s when things started going wrong. You and Ryan should have just been a fling, a summer romance – then you should’ve gone to London, lived on your own, become a photographer, travelled, done all the things you said you were going to do . . . ’
    I turn away, not wanting to hear any more, but Casey turns me back to face her.
    ‘I’m only saying all this because I care about you, Molly!’ Her eyes are glittering, her grip on me pincer-tight. ‘You kissed that guy from work and took it further because you’re not happy. You want a way out of your relationship and, drunk or not, you went for it. I know you didn’t actually sleep with him, but be honest – you wanted to, didn’t you? And isn’t that almost the same? Don’t look at me like that, I’m just trying to stop you from kidding yourself any longer. Don’t waste any more years with the wrong person just because it feels safe. There’s someone out there who is perfect for you in the way that Ryan will never be . . . and someone for Ryan too. Why don’t you give yourself – and him – the chance to find out?’
    I look away, far out to sea. I want to block out her words, stick my fingers in my ears and sing ‘La la la’ like I used to do when my mum was trying to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. I try to pull away from Casey, but I can’t because she’s clinging so tightly onto my arms that she’s pinching me. But it’s her words that are hurting me the most because I know they’re true. I look up into the sky just as the rain that has been threatening to fall is released in a torrent by the angry black clouds.
    ‘I need to go home,’ I say, staggering back from her. ‘I have to talk to Ryan.’
    ‘Molly!’ she calls and looks at me with such desperate concern that I step back towards her and kiss her, a quick brush on her wind-whipped cheek, an acknowledgement that even though she hasn’t made me feel better, she has helped. But it’s a hollow kiss, because it is how I feel: empty inside. I know that I’ve got to tell Ryan what I’ve done and I also know that telling him will spell the end of our relationship.

Can’t Kiss It Better
    ‘A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.’ That’s what Ingrid Bergman once said and it’s true. We kiss to say hello, to stave off silences, to show how much we’ve missed someone, to show we’re glad to be with them. We kiss to stop arguments or to interrupt a conversation we no longer want to have. We also use kisses when we want to pretend that everything is all right. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. But it turns out that some things just can’t be kissed better.

FF>> 12/12/04>
    I open our front door and am immediately engulfed by the warmth and smell of sweet chestnut and Ryan’s cinnamon-infused mulled wine spreading through the flat. The familiar sounds of pots and pans being crashed around accompanied by Ryan crooning along with East 17 to ‘Stay Another Day’ . I freeze by the door and have to stop myself from walking out again.
    I walk into our lounge and then I see the lavishly decorated room with the gaudy Christmas tree and the ornaments that seem to have blame etched on their cheaply painted faces. Even the glittering baubles on our tree are doing their best to reflect my shame back at me.
    ‘Molly?’ Ryan calls from the kitchen. ‘Just a minute!