Love is the Drug

‘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 (#ucff8f2dd-748b-53af-8320-90e396184d85)

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.