All rights to Tony Grounds & the BBC for the Our Girl characters and to Peter Howitt for the Sliding Doors story. Hope you don't mind me borrowing them for a bit of fun.
Molly is having a bad day
"Shit, shittity, shit", Molly Dawes mutters to herself looking at her watch as she rushes towards the office on the Monday morning following her 30th birthday weekend. She knows she is going to be late for the weekly management meeting, but is confident that she'll be able to bullshit her way through it. She works in PR for goodness sake, which is all bullshit, bullshit, bullshit anyway. She loves her job, specialising in high-end restaurant and hotel launches, and is bleedin' good at it, but does struggle with the macho sexist arseholes she currently works with who do their best to show her up and trip her up at every opportunity. When she was headhunted by Matt Geddings, a former boss, eighteen months ago she had been ecstatic at the opportunity to join such a high-profile PR firm, but things had gone to shit since Matt had himself been headhunted by a top-tier New York agency six months ago. He'd asked her to go with him, but she'd regretfully declined because her boyfriend, Dylan, had begged her to stay with him in London.
Dylan Smith is part of the reason she is late this morning. She'd tried to get out of bed when the alarm went off, but he had been intent on delaying her. She's been missing his attentions in recent weeks as he's been quite distracted, so she had allowed herself to be delayed. It was alright for him she thought, as a published writer he was the master of his time, not governed by weekly management meetings and demanding clients. She certainly doesn't begrudge him pursuing his dream, but she is looking forward to the day when this so-called "difficult" second book is finished and he will be in a position to pay his way once again and hopefully focus a bit more on their relationship, rather than blowing hot and cold the whole time.
As she passes Qaseem's café, Qaseem comes out with her morning cuppa, thrusting it into her hand with a smile and a fond "Good morning, Molly". Barely stopping, she gives him one of her killer smiles and mouths a massive "Thank you". Qaseem knows that his favourite customer will sort out payment when she comes in for a late lunch and chat in the afternoon.
She enters the conference room, where the management meeting is already under way, conscious that the atmosphere is tense. She takes her seat and grabs some papers from her bag.
Sohail, the head of the London office is, as usual, eyeing her with barely concealed distain. "Miss Dawes, we're honoured that you decided to put in an appearance today."
She really doesn't like his tone and is more than a little irritated as he knows, as well as the other four smirking men sat around the swanky conference table, that she always works way more than her contracted 35 hours a week. Knowing she can't let him know that he's getting to her, she decides to brazen it out. "Sorry Sohail, I know I'm late, but yer gonna shittin' love the plans I've come up with for the Avalon Hotel launch next month."
She's slightly surprised when he doesn't answer her, but merely puts an empty box on the table with what she thinks looks like a decidedly unpleasant smirk on his face. She looks at the box, trying to process what this means. "Fuck, fuckity, fuck" she thinks as she realises this is the vodka box, from which she borrowed four bottles of vodka last week.
Starting to feel quite uncomfortable and more than a little bit vulnerable she stutters, "I took four bottles of vodka on Friday. It was me birthday. You know that. I was 'avin' a party, and I was runnin' late, so I borrowed some. I bought some more to replace them."
Sohail is still smiling coldly at her, "Not a lot of use to me when I had nothing to offer the executives who dropped by late Friday evening."
Exasperated, but knowing that this latest confrontation is going really badly she attempts some humour, "You could 'ave told them you'd run out. It's popular stuff. Bullshit, bullshit. We're in PR. That's what we do, isn't it?".
She pauses, the realisation that Sohail has taken this opportunity to completely and utterly screw her hits her like a slap in the face, "But you didn't do that, did you Sohail?".
"No". With that one word, he looks positively victorious.
She's now fighting back angry tears, determined not to crack in front of these wankers, "So I'm out, am I? Well this is just bleedin' perfect. Congratulations. You've wanted me out for ages. Now you've done it. Very well done."
She pauses, still slightly incredulous that this is really happening. "Theft. Pretty fool-proof."
She gathers her papers, stands up and makes her way to the door, "Ok. I'll go. I'll go. I was gettin' a bit choked up with all the testosterone flyin' about the place. It's best I get out before I start growin' a penis."
As she slams the door, she hears one of the spineless tossers say, "Told you… Lesbian".
She grabs a few personal items from her desk, desperately blinking back her tears and heads towards the lift. She steps into the full lift and nervously tugs at her earring, willing the doors to quickly close and take her away from the car-crash of a situation she's just experienced. She hardly even registers the tall man stood beside her, who says "Whoops" and bends down to pick up her earring which has fallen to the floor. She glances at him, too distracted to properly look and utters a quick, "thank you" before rushing out of the lift, out of the building and onto the street finally allowing her hot, angry tears to fall.
A few minutes later, after pulling herself together enough to stop crying, she's on autopilot retracing her route from earlier and heading for the tube station to take herself home, back to Dylan. She completely forgets about needing to pay Qaseem for her morning cuppa.
Molly misses the train
Molly hurries down the steps towards the platform just as a District Line train is pulling in. Desperate to get home, she runs towards the train but isn't quick enough to slip through the doors and into the carriage. She lets out a frustrated sigh and can't believe her shittin' bad luck when an announcement informs her that the District Line is now suspended. She stares at the empty track as though willing a train to come along and reluctantly drags herself back up the stairs to the street.
She spends the next ten minutes trying to hail a taxi, along with everyone else who has just come out of the station. Finally, she's successful but as she goes to open the door she is shoved roughly from behind as some total git tries to grab her handbag. She manages to keep hold of her bag but in the scuffle, loses her balance hitting her head as she falls to the ground.
The cabbie is out of his taxi in a flash and at her side, "You all right, luv? Oh, it's a bit of a nasty cut."
She grimaces at this further bit of shittin' bad luck, touches her head, which is starting to throb, is slightly horrified at the amount of blood on her hands and mumbles, "Might gonna need a couple of stitches".
The taxi driver helps her up and bundles her into the taxi, "Don't worry luv, I'll take you to St Thomas', no charge."
As she sits in the back of the cab she wonders if this day could actually get any worse.
Molly catches the train
She hurries down the steps towards the platform just as a District Line train is pulling in. Desperate to get home, she does something that she never normally does, and launches herself at the closing doors, wrestling with the doors and managing to push herself into the carriage. Feeling a little bit flustered she takes a seat, breathes a huge sigh and takes out her dog-eared copy of Dylan Thomas' "Under Milk Wood", hoping to find some calm and solace in her nut.
She is startled to hear a male voice say her favourite quote, "We are not wholly bad or good, who live our lives under Milk Wood".
She looks up and into the eyes of a devastatingly handsome man sat on the opposite side of the carriage. She has a fleeting feeling that she has seen him somewhere before.
Before she can come up with any response, he's speaking to her again, "Funny how nobody talks on the tube, isn't it? I rarely catch the tube myself, or lifts. Confined spaces, everybody shuts down. Why is that? Perhaps we think everybody on the tube is potential psychopath so we close down and pretend to read a book or something."
She takes in the man talking to her. As well as being flippin' good-looking, he has a right posh accent. She doubts very much he is a psychopath, but suspects that he might be a bit cocky and arrogant looking and sounding like he does. In her current mood, she has no desire to get talking to him, she's had her fill of men today. "Look, I don't think you're a psychopath, I just wanna read me book."
He smiles and nods at her, "I understand. I apologise."
It is less than 20 seconds before he is talking to her again, "Have we met before? You seem familiar".
Molly looks at him with her best withering, shut the fuck-up look, "I don't think so mate."
He furrows his brow, as though lost in concentration. Suddenly he has what can only be described as a shit-eating grin on his face as he remembers, "Yes. Yes, you were in the lift just now. You dropped your earring, I picked it up."
Now feeling slightly rude, she relents a bit, "Oh yeah. You did. Thank you."
"Pleasure." Pressing on, now that he has her attention again, "So do you work there?"
Having temporarily forgot the reason she is sat on the tube heading home in the middle of the day, his question brings her back to the miserable reality with a bump. She answers with a despondent, "I did do, but I've just been fired, ok?
The grin instantly disappears from his face and he seems genuinely upset for her, "Oh, that's bad luck. I'm sorry."
She's once again feeling rude, as he is actually being rather nice to her, which just makes her feel even more distraught, "It's ok, you didn't do it. Thank you for yer concern. Thank you for pickin' up me earrin', but I just wanna read me book."
They travel on in silence. She's trying hard to concentrate on her book, but is conscious that he hasn't taken his eyes off her since they stopped talking. She knows she should feel uncomfortable under the gaze of a complete stranger, but she actually feels weirdly reassured by him.
Eventually he clears his throat to get her attention, "I get off at this stop. I'm only telling you in case you get off at this stop too. I don't want you to think I'm following you….which I'm not. I mean, I wouldn't….."
"Bleedin' hell" she thinks to herself as she realises they are indeed getting off at the same station. He gets up to leave and she considers staying on and travelling to the next station and coming back. "Get a grip, Dawesy" she tells herself as she jumps up, follows him off the train and chases behind him up the stairs cursing how long his stride is compared to hers. She shouts, almost by way of an apology, "I'm sure you're not a nutter, or a psycho or nuffink."
He stops, turns around and with a look of extreme pleasure, extends his hand towards her, "I'm Charles".
She takes his hand, giving it the briefest of shakes, "Molly". This close to him she notices he has the most amazingly beautiful dark brown eyes. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, "I live with someone. A man. I live with a man."
He looks incredibly amused by her sudden admission, "Really? I have people I consider soul mates who don't confide in me this much. And what would he say if he knew you were walking up from the tube in broad daylight with a complete stranger?"
As he says these words she thinks about Dylan, who doesn't deserve this sort of behaviour from his girlfriend, "He'd probably have a Julius Caesar".
Sensing that the mood has changed again, Charles turns to leave, "It was nice to meet you, Molly. Sorry about your job. Really. I hope Lady Luck smiles on you soon."