Then Molly exploded on to the unit.
The first time in Group, she sat for about five minutes in the stillness, before jumping up and saying in that loud, posh voice of hers, 'Well, bugger this.'
Ellen, who was facilitating at the time, said something completely wanky, like, 'I'm hearing some anger from you, Molly.'
I happened to meet Molly's eyes at that moment, and we both burst out laughing, the sound of it so strange. It seemed to go on forever, that laugh, flinging itself from wall to wall until it infected everyone.
Even Laurel smiled, and I remember that smile so clearly, the wrinkles creasing her cheeks like an old woman. It was the first time I'd ever seen her do it, and at that point I'd known her at least a couple of months. And something about it made the laughter die in my throat and then tears were in my eyes and Molly looked at me like she really knew everything that was in my head. That look went on a long time, while Ellen blustered and the others fell silent. It seemed like the only thing in the world was Molly's eyes, green and shining.
'You miss her,' Laurel says.
God, how I do.
Chapter 7
16 WEEKS TO GO
I took Laurel back to the unit. They probably would've been knocking on my door before long anyway. We sat for a while and then she looked at me and said, 'Suppose I'd better … ' And I said, 'Yeah.' And off we went, in a taxi which I knew they'd pay for at the other end.
I gave Laurel an awkward, arm's-length hug and told her to write to me – she's not allowed her laptop owing to a Pro-Ana website incident – and then kind of skulked in the back of the taxi while she slumped up to the door. It opened before she got there to reveal Felicity looking stern. Felicity said a few bits to Laurel then came over to pay the driver. She didn't look at me while she gave him the money to take me back and I thought I'd got away with it, but then she opened the back door and leaned in.
'You need to come to our sessions. Don't make me send the crisis team round,' she said.
I nodded and she seemed to know better than to push it.
Her eyes flicked to my stomach once, before she said, 'Thanks for bringing her back,' then shut the door quickly.
I was thinking about it all the way home – if that's the right word for the flat. Felicity looked worried, like always, but also a little bit triumphant, like she knew stuff about me.
I was also thinking I should speak to Mum and Dad, but that was all too complicated, so then I started to think about Molly's List.
I haven't looked at it for weeks, but I don't need to. I know everything on there.
Molly's List – Things to Do Before You Die
1.Lose virginity. It cannot be as big a deal as people make out and, seeing as I'm not going to be around to do it for myself, you'll have to do it for me.
2.Travel. Go somewhere. Go to the places no one wants to see. Anti-travel the world. You could start in Torquay – there's lots of old people there and old people rock. They must be on to something. Get one of those vintage Victorian swimming costumes and go for a dip in the sea.
3.Adopt an animal from one of those rescue places and get a certificate. I'm thinking a baby giraffe – they might look funny, but they can see far (she drew a wobbly picture of a giraffe here).
4.Read more books – classics and all that. Read something you actually like and stop picking books at random. You do deserve to read stuff you want to, you know.
5.Fall in love. It doesn't matter if this is mutually exclusive to number one.
6.Change the world, because I know you can.
7.STAY OUT OF HOSPITAL.
I think about the list and how I've only done numbers one and seven so far, and I don't even remember the first one too well, considering I was pretty drunk at the time – and look how that worked out.
I wonder again what Molly was thinking when she wrote it. Did she really believe everything would be solved with a few words on a scrap of paper? But it's more than that. It's like she was casting a spell for how my life should go. Because the thing is … I'm still here. I'm demonstrably not in hospital, for better or worse, even if I'm not sure I've had anything to do with it. Sometimes I think it's only that sprinkling of words Molly left me, not even two hundred of them, keeping me here.
I'm mulling this over, when something outside my window catches my eye. Some numpty decided to decorate the outsides of the flats with window boxes when they were built. To be fair, some people do plant stuff in them: marigolds, herbs – who knows what kind – and that sort of thing. But I've never bothered. Except now there's a plant in a pot in one corner of mine. The breeze must have caught it, making bright red petals dance across the glass. I go over and almost have to shield my eyes from the mass of flowers in the window box next door, shaking crazily in the wind. I try to count how many there are, but the wind is too strong and the flowers blur into one blast of colour.