Be My Baby. A. Michael L.

school playground. Mollie frowned as she noticed all of the badges and patches were missing from Esme’s backpack. Something wasn’t right. She felt it in the pit of her stomach. Esme was changing.

      She thought about it as she walked back to the studio, making lists in her head of all the small things that had changed since the school term had started.

      Esme had always been different, in the most beautiful and wonderful way. She was like a time portal. She loved music Mollie had never even introduced to her, and had a strange understanding of how people interacted. She often saw things before adults did. She saw Evie and Killian getting together from the beginning. She recognised Mollie’s relationship with her own mother, Linda, easily, constantly telling her to forgive Grandma and trust that she had the best intentions. Esme was a much better person than she was. And that was her greatest achievement as a mother.

      But something didn’t sit right.

      Mollie walked straight into the kitchen of the studio and got to work. There was an event she was catering, a small amount of baking for a local couple’s engagement party that weekend. That would be done easily enough. And then onto the prep for tomorrow’s segment on morning TV, thanks to Ilyaria, who lived in Camden Square and worked in television, championing their events and promoting them like no one’s business. Once she’d mentioned her new venture, Mollie Makes, fuelled by passion for healthy eating and a few too many glasses of Prosecco at a launch one night, Ilyaria hadn’t stopped until she had ten kids’ parties and an after-school club interested in what she could offer. She called last week to say they needed someone for their morning news segment. And there Mollie was, with a sudden moment of fame, and she wanted to vomit.

      But first, coffee.

      Killian wandered in at five past nine, the same as every day, and reached for the coffee pot. It was one of the things she liked about her working day, the fact that Evie’s boyfriend worked in the room in the back of the studio, and was always happy to have a chat and sample some of her first cookies of the day. This was part of the reason she’d been lulled into a false sense of security – Chelsea had found Kit, and Evie had found Killian. There were clearly good men out there. Men who didn’t know when to stop eating her freshly made cookies, and men who wanted to set her up with horrible obnoxious accountants, but good men. There was hope.

      ‘What’s that look for?’ He poured them each a cup of coffee from the pot, sliding one over to her, ‘Still grouchy about the date?’

      ‘Evie told you already?’ Mollie huffed. The other downside of her best friend and flatmate having a boyfriend who worked in the building.

      Killian shrugged and ran a hand through his dark stubble, crossing his arms, ‘She felt guilty. Like they’d strong-armed you. She feels responsible. But, I was thinking...’

      Mollie held up a finger, ‘Killian, I like you. I like that we have coffee every morning and that you’re crazy in love with my best friend. If you are about to suggest a set-up with one of your friends, I will kick your arse from here till Tuesday.’

      Killian froze and then nodded, ‘Ah, that scary mama face. No wonder Esme’s an angel child.’

      ‘Well, that’s more what I’m worried about.’

      Killian frowned, and leaned back against the cabinets, tilting his head in question.

      ‘I think something’s up with Esme. Do you think she seems happy?’

      Killian shrugged, ‘She spent all summer at the skate park, playing with the local kids, she’s still her polite, book-obsessed self... sure, I think she’s happy.’

      ‘But she put her leather jacket away in the cupboard, her backpack hasn’t got any patches any more, and she’s hanging out with a girl who wants to teach her dance routines,’ Mollie frowned, ‘She hates that. It’s like when I gave her a Barbie doll and she turned the hair pink with a highlighter and cut it off.’

      Killian shook his head, sipping at his coffee, ‘Molls, she’s gone into Year Six, she’s got one year to either ignore everyone and wait until secondary school, or try to make friends. It’s got to be pretty lonely, being as smart as Ez is. She lives in this awesome world where she has all these people who love her and she lives in an art centre. Her family are constantly doing these fun events, and people like me are being added gradually. She probably hasn’t got the same frame of reference as those other kids. And what you learn to do in that situation is hide the parts that are different, muffle them, just a bit. It’s survival instinct. Esme’s smart, but she’s not changing, she’s just blending in.’

      Mollie tugged at her hair and sighed, ‘Yeah, you’re right, I guess. I just... she’s growing up.’

      ‘You’ve got years of teenage fights and drama ahead, don’t worry about it,’ Killian awkwardly patted her shoulder, ‘Focus on being freaked out about tomorrow’s on-screen debut. Do you know what time they’re coming?’

      ‘Six-thirty a.m.! I was gonna ask Evie to take Esme to school, if it runs over.’

      ‘Sure, if not, I’ll take her, I’m finishing a project tonight and then I’m free tomorrow.’

      Mollie grinned, ‘I really am glad you stuck around.’

      ‘Didn’t have much of a choice. That Evie, she kind of gets under your skin.’ Killian drained the coffee, ‘Anyway, I’ve got a day bed to build. And seeing as there’s no cookies or baked goods to keep me from my work...’

      He wiggled his eyebrows hopefully and Mollie rolled her eyes, handing him a cookie from the jar, ‘Incorrigible.’

      ‘That’s what they tell me,’ he laughed as he walked off back to his studio, and Mollie returned to her baking, turning her worrying from Esme’s school life to her own countdown to a national television appearance. She wasn’t sure which one was more upsetting, but one was definitely more immediate. She got out her mixing bowl.

      ***

      ‘And then what happened?’ Chelsea placed her hand on her chin, grinning as she sucked on a lollipop. Evie was pretending not to be interested, painting her nails a dark shade of purple, her fluffy socks with the pigs on rather ruining the goth-girl illusion she liked to save for the rest of the school. Ruby was sitting awkwardly, legs in her sleeping bag, tucking her knees up under her chin as she pursed her lips.

      ‘Chels, you don’t ask a girl for the gory details,’ Ruby raised an eyebrow.

      Mollie paused, quite liking the brief moment of being the centre of attention. She paused in brushing out her long blonde hair, and winked at Chelsea, saying nothing. Mollie never got to have any of this, she was the quiet one, the shy one. Boys didn’t talk to her because they thought she was standoffish, or a ‘stuck-up princess’. But Jamie MacAllister didn’t think that.

      ‘He just walked me to the bus stop after the party,’ Mollie blushed, ‘It wasn’t a big deal.’

      Evie snorted, ‘Yeah, it was. You look like you’re about to take flight.’

      ‘Well, that’s fine for you guys, you’ve all dated people and slept with people and...’

      ‘Hey Miss Assumptions, who do you think we’ve slept with?’ Chelsea raised an eyebrow.

      ‘Tommy,’ Mollie pursed her lips and watched as Chelsea’s shoulders lowered and she huffed.

      ‘Of course, they say anything. Molls, some advice, as nice as they seem, don’t go off alone anywhere with them for longer than ten minutes, because then they can tell all their mates you shagged them. When really, you got a half-hearted kiss, choked on the chewing gum they hadn’t thought to take out, and then let you walk home by yourself. Men are dicks.’

      Ruby frowned, wriggling out of her sleeping bag and hopping up next to Mollie on her bed. Linda was out at a party of her own, and the sleepover had been planned weeks in advance. The party at Bridget’s house, then coming back early (because it would clearly be lame) and watching silly movies in their pyjamas.