Toe tapping and fidgeting with the delicate skirt of her floral dress, Molly Dawes was a nervy sight as her train pulled into Bath Spa. As she stood opposite the train doors, waiting for them to part, Molly caught sight of herself in the glass and almost did a double take.
Stepping off the carriage, careful not to snag her hem with the spikes on the godforsaken contraptions she'd wrestled herself into, Molly found to her surprise and delight that she didn't feel out of place. If anything, she felt better than ever and it wasn't just the stilettos making her walk taller. Bossman won't know what to make of this, Molly thought, and he'd better bloody appreciate it.
It'd been weeks since she'd seen him, bedded down with wires in Birmingham, forlorn yet still fiery and strong to the core in a way that was so him, hers. After swapping details, they'd chatted on the phone, emailed constantly and texted each other incessantly.
Every time Molly saw a new message from the Captain, her face would break out into a smile so big and bright. It wasn't surprising then that her Nan had cottoned on. But just like everyone else, she also easily assumed it was a canny mouthed Welshman that was bringing out the sunshine in her granddaughters eyes. If only they all knew.
The whole journey down, Molly could barely contain herself. Rereading his messages, she had to hold in a burst of laughter when she came to the one he'd sent her a couple of days previous.
Bossman had been teasing her; he wouldn't let slip his given name. So they'd played a guessing game, where Molly had fired off every poncey, privately educated name she could think of. Henry, William, Percy, Edward and in a moment of sheer desperation, even bloody Cosmo. Captain James had laughed so hard when she'd guessed that one, asking her in a disapproving voice how on earth she could be so cruel. Smiling down the phone, Molly had defensively confessed that she only knew it from watching Bridget Jones. He had laughed heartily and grudgingly divulged that he actually went to Eton with somebody cursed with the unfortunate name, before stating that he'd take great delight in introducing them at his next reunion.
That simple all too easy reference to their future had made her worryingly warm all over. Just him uttering that word, their, made her ridiculously happy. Not that she'd go and admit that to him. Molly had brushed the comment off, telling him he'd have to pay her to go to that toffee nosed hell hole, then adding that it couldn't be that bad if he'd gone there.
It was the way they were it seemed, him making easy references to the future and her trying to shrug it off as if his words didn't affect her. After all, he hardly knew her, she kept telling herself. On tour, they were both in uniform. In Afghan they'd both had a purpose and a duty, but back home things would be different, maybe even awkward.
Wouldn't they?
At the end of the day, he'd gone to school at fucking Eton, whilst she'd barely gone anywhere. Bossman was used to posh ways, been brought up in a posh old house and got used to, Molly was sure, posh women. And her? Well she'd only ever heard the name Cosmo from a romcom.
But even Molly couldn't deny that the chemistry that'd always been present in Afghan was still there. She could tell from his flirting down the phone.
It was obvious that the Captain was eager, and every time they spoke they learned more about each other. They were both taking the time to appreciate the little things; taking advantage of the fact that they didn't have to wait out anymore.
Molly was pretty sure he was as anxious as she was. It wasn't a bad anxious, not like when she'd first spoken to him after he'd come round in hospital. No. Not like that.
They hadn't spoken about their first, and so far only, kiss they'd shared. Although, Molly was sure that it was to be the first of many. Just thinking of it made her ache. Jesus. Molly had most definitely replayed it over and over, and more than a couple of times she'd felt her cheeks flush bright through the remnants of her Afghan induced tan and sometimes if she fought hard enough against the terrors that teased her mind, she swore she could feel his strong hands cradling her face ever so gently.
Laying in her bunk night after night, whispers of the moment they'd shared were the only thing keeping her from going absolutely barmy - what with all the thoughts that had her mind running away with itself. The echoes of Bashira's sweet, searching voice being muffled and then silenced by the sharp shock of gunfire. Many a night Molly often slammed open her eyes to the deadly sound that reverberated round and round her head, trying to beckon dreams of Captain James; clinging to her only shred of comfort.
But now, walking through the pretty streets of the most perfect place she'd ever seen, Molly felt a different nervousness from the gut wrenching knots that kept her awake. This time, she admitted to herself whilst unwillingly giving into a girlish sigh, the only thing turning her stomach were the swarms of butterflies that just wouldn't stay put. Bossman butterflies she thought, resisting the urge to roll her carefully made up eyes.
All of their conversations had possessed an undertone, and she wasn't surprised in the least when he'd invited her down to Bath so soon. They both needed to see each other badly. Captain James had asked her out for dinner, she'd saved the address on her phone and practically memorised the route. She just knew it'd be someplace fancy knowing him.
Molly could hardly believe it, smiling to herself in more than a bit of disbelief. Here she was in bloody Bath, with Bossman taking her to dinner. Surreal didn't cover it.