Page 43 of One Last Try (Try for Love #1)

Owen

Tyres roll and crunch over the gravel drive of Fernbank Cottage, and I wonder if Mathias has ordered takeaway. It’s a little early for takeaway, but it’s the off season and we’ve spent all morning in bed sucking each other’s dicks, and I’m hungry, so he’s probably starving.

Mathias is always in the mood for potatoes, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had Deliveroo drop cheesy chips or garlic croquets to the cottage at seemingly random hours.

I run to meet her at the door.

“Dad, oh my god, when did you buy a Range Rover?” She casts her eyes over me and comes to an awkward stop at the bottom of the steps.

I remember I’m only wearing boxers and an ancient Massive Attack T-shirt, but greet her as though I’m fully clothed. “Hi, poppet.”

Molly pointedly glances at her watch. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Why aren’t you dressed?”

I don’t answer her question because the truth would make her gag. “What are you doing back already?”

“My final exam was yesterday,” she says. She follows me through the cottage into the kitchen. Her eyes linger on Mathias’s cinema screen TV, but she doesn’t comment.

I flick the kettle on. “You didn’t fancy staying a while longer and celebrating?” I get three mugs out of the cupboard.

“Nah, we went out last night for dinner, and I just wanted to come home.”

I feel warm and fuzzy at her words and pull her into a rib-cracking hug. Molly has never been into cuddles, much like Mathias, and very much unlike Daisy and me.

Overhead, the toilet flush sounds, and minutes later, Mathias walks into the kitchen. I had also forgotten he was wearing underpants, and only underpants.

“I just had the most satisfying shit of my entire l—” he begins, spots Molly, freezes. “Good fucking lord.”

“Mathias Jones!” Molly says on an inward breath. Her eyes bounce over his body, no doubt searching for a safe place to land. She doesn’t find any, and jerks her gaze towards the kitchen bin. She forgets to exhale.

I’m blushing. Flames lick up my neck and cheeks. She’s essentially caught Mathias and me in a not-safe-for-work state of undress and has put two and two together. “Molly, this is Mathias Jones . . . my . . . friend. Matt, this is Molly. ”

Molly squeaks a hello without looking up, and when Mathias speaks, all his words have mushed together.

“Hi it’s-really-nice-to-meet-you-I’ve-heard-so-much-about-you-let-me-just-go-upstairs-and-get-dressed-please-thank-you-be-right-back.” And then he’s off, jogging up the stairs again.

“Hey, Wild Card? Can you grab my jeans on your way?” I call up after him.

Molly groans and slaps herself in the face. “This isn’t happening,” she mumbles to herself and then pries her palm away and looks at me.

“You should have called. Then I could’ve at least put on some trousers,” I say.

“I thought it’d be a nice surprise. But I forgot about this honeymoon phase you’re in.”

I laugh it off. I can’t deny anything, and there’s no point hiding the truth from Molly if Daisy and Lando and the entire village already know. “So, why are you here and not at Mum’s? Don’t get me wrong, I’m chuffed to bits you came back here first, but Mum’s got all the space and the best snacks.”

“I don’t even know. I was on autopilot, I guess. I wanted to see you and Daze, and I figured you’d be here or across the road, and—oh my god! I just remembered you don’t live here any more.”

Mathias returns wearing micro shorts not much longer than his Armani boxers and a silky grey workout tee. He hands me my jeans and I go into the dining room to tug them on.

“Technically, as of two weeks’ time . . . I will be living here again,” I call out. It feels like someone’s punched me in the gut.

Mathias is leaving. We’ve sold enough rematch tickets that we have all the roof money needed, and I’ll move back over the road .

. . back here. I don’t want to focus on that part, though.

It’s approaching too quickly. “I’ve promised Daze she can have the flat above the pub, so you’re welcome to take your old room again while you wait for your Master’s to start, but you might have to crash at Mum’s for a couple of weeks. ”

There’s a sudden itch on the side of Mathias’s head which needs so much urgent attention he has to turn away from us as he scratches it.

“That’s fine, I can stay with Mum and Mark for a bit.” Molly’s brow furrows. “But I’m confused. Are you guys moving in together . . . or?”

“Oh, no, we’re not. Mathias is moving back to Wales.” I try to keep my voice wobble free.

“Oh.” Molly’s blushing now, and Mathias is looking at neither of us.

“So . . . um . . .” Mathias starts. I get the feeling he’s trying to make things a little less awkward, but unsurprisingly, it’s not working. “What Master’s are you going to study?”

“Engineering,” Molly says.

“What . . .” He rubs his bare foot along the skirting. “What kind of engineering?”

“Uh, advanced mechanical engineering.”

“Oh, yeah? Awesome.”

I smother my snort of laughter. Pass it off as a sneeze.

“Did you go to uni?” Molly asks.

Mathias shakes his head. “No.”

“Who’s hungry?!” I jump in before it spirals into the most painful ten minutes of my life. “We could go into town and get a pizza?”

“That sounds great,” they both say in unison.

We pop into the pub on the way to let Daisy know. There’s only one customer in there, Viv. Well, two if you include Will Shakespeare, but since he’s never once paid off his tab, I don’t count him.

“ MOLS! ” Daisy screams, running from behind the bar and sweeping her sister into a big hug.

They are so alike. Molly’s a little taller, and her hair’s two or three shades darker.

She also dresses a lot more practically than Daisy, and has never been into party culture.

But they’re similar enough for me to confuse one with the other a thousand times a day, and if I get either of them on the phone, I sometimes don’t know who I’m speaking with.

“We’re going for pizza. Wanna come?” Molly says .

“Sure.” Daisy’s already taking her apron off. She glances over at Viv and Mr Shakespeare. “Shit! No, I can’t. I’m bar manager now.”

“What? Oh my goodness, that’s great news,” Molly says.

“Deputy bar manager,” I correct.

“So you’re not going to uni then? You finally told Dad?” Molly grabs Daisy’s arm, and I realise they’ve talked about this before in secret. I hate that they’ve hidden it from me, that perhaps they felt too scared to be honest.

“Nope to uni, but I am going to do an online bar and restaurant management course,” Daisy says, proud as punch.

“This is my calling. Probably. At least it’s my calling for now.

” She sighs as she glances around the pub.

I can’t tell if it’s a sad sigh because she wants to go for pizza with her sister, or a contented smile because I caved and “promoted” her to deputy bar manager.

We’d had such a long chat—chats, plural—about Daisy’s future, and she explained to me that she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life and is simply enjoying things as they are.

I realised it wasn’t fair for me to demand she get a “real job,” as though bartending or pub work isn’t a real career.

If anything, she and Mathias have shown me just how important my “not a real job” is—for the community, for friendships, for family, for a sense of belonging.

Why wouldn’t she want to be involved in that for longer?

“We can mind the pub while you guys have a little family catch up? Can’t we Willy?

” Viv says. The dog doesn’t even lift his head.

“There are only two couples in the beer garden. I know how the tills work, how the taps work, how to change a barrel if I need to. And Tyler will be here in three hours to start his shift. Go. Have fun.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Mathias says, forcibly removing Daisy’s apron from her grip and passing it to Viv.

Family catch up. Family. Including Mathias.

Fuck, I wish he wasn’t leaving in two weeks.

Mathias drives us to town in his black Range Rover. It feels like we’re on our way to some red-carpet event. I suggested I could drive in my seven-seater, but I was shot down immediately .

“Absolutely not. I’m starving and I’d like to get to Zia’s this side of Christmas,” he’d replied.

The girls giggled as though they were all in on this big joke, and jumped into the back seat.

I didn’t mind too much. I got to watch the bunch and flex of Mathias’s forearm muscles as he changed gear and turned down the winding Wiltshire country lanes.

It’s Saturday afternoon and Pizza di Zia is busy, but since they’re one of the sponsors of the rematch, and we let them snap a picture for their social media, they squeeze us into a table in the corner.

The girls order pasta—duck for Daisy, and veggie for Molly.

I go for a stonebaked pepperoni pizza because it’s a classic, and Mathias orders a calzone with two portions of patate al forno as a single side and enough garlic bread to bankrupt the Isle of Wight.

He shares his food . . . reluctantly. All the while the girls are side-eying each other and jabbing their elbows into each other’s ribs.

Both Mathias and I pretend we don’t see them. They’re just doing what sisters do. Under the table, Mathias rubs his bare calf over my shin.

And we chat, and chat, and chat. We celebrate Molly’s degree being over. We talk about Daisy’s new role at the pub. We gossip about Lando’s latest escapades with Harry Ellis, a.k.a. Abs. And of course, we discuss the upcoming rematch.

We have a week left until the big day. And I’m excited to see everyone’s hard work coming together. I trust them all to pull off a fantastic event, but I also wish it would never arrive.

I’m not ready for Mathias to leave Mudford.

Honestly, I’m not sure I ever will be.