Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Tom
Two Weeks Later
O h God, I think I’m going to be sick. I haven’t been this nervous since I challenged my sixth-formers to a teacher vs. student dodgeball game, blissfully unaware that my whole department had been out on the lash the night before.
But, walking toward the sports field to face a pack of bloodthirsty students with my green-around-the-gills colleagues was a piece of cake compared to this. Because now, I’m about to take the stage as Mr Grant, the new deputy headteacher.
No pressure. Only a couple of hundred uppity parents to impress. Why, oh why, did I volunteer to give the opening speech for year eleven’s options evening? I’ve enough trouble as it is on nights like this, trying to convince the ambitious parents of London that an A-Level in P.E. won’t doom their child to a life of instant noodles.
A quiet hush falls over the vast room when I step onto the creaking stage. Every pair of eyes lands on me, rows upon rows of parents and students, all waiting to judge me for whatever minor infraction they can find. I hurry to the safety of the backlit podium, clinging onto the worn wood in a desperate bid to remain upright.
“Welcome, everyone,” I croak. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Mr Grant, head of P.E. and deputy to Mrs Brookes. Tonight is an exciting time for our year elevens as they take their first steps in deciding what subjects they want to study next year. All the department heads are here, ready to answer any questions you might have. Now for some housekeeping…”
I prattle on and on, my voice growing stronger as I relax into the speech I’ve practised about a hundred times in my bathroom mirror. Eventually, I even have the confidence to look up from my scribbled script. My heart almost bursts when I see some of my sporty students smiling at me encouragingly. A few are sulking as only teenagers can, and others are simply bored. On the other hand, the parents are committing my every word to memory, likely so they can test me later. But that’s fine. One-on-one, I can handle no problem.
Then, just as I’m wrapping up, a shot of adrenaline hits my system. It’s like my body is reacting to something before my brain can figure out what. I chalk it up to a delayed bout of nerves until I spot the clearest pair of ocean eyes staring up at me from the crowd. Eyes that have haunted my dreams for two whole weeks, that have occupied my every waking moment since I touched back down in muggy England.
Paisley.
The woman who slipped through my fingers is sitting at the back of the room, staring at me in wide-eyed horror. She’s sandwiched between Mason, one of my football stars, and a tall, handsome man in a very expensive suit. His arm rests on the back of Paisley’s chair, and he’s leaning in to whisper in her ear. But she doesn’t react. She simply continues to watch as I put all the pieces together.
“And that’s all from me, folks,” I say into the microphone, wrapping up this nightmare. “Please stop me in the hall if you have any questions.”
I hurry off the stage, hiding in the wings until I can catch my breath. I should have known. Even in Vegas, I’d wondered how someone as perfect as Paisley could be single. And now I know. She isn’t. Suddenly, her insistence that we’d never be more than a holiday fling makes so much sense. I was just a sap who fell for her innocent act. I’m such an idiot.
Oh, shit. I’ve had an affair with my student’s mum. I’m such a cliché.
What makes it worse is that I’ve been hoping to run into Paisley again. I had some stupid notion that fate would bring us back together, that we’d find each other in a bar somewhere, lock eyes and run off into the sunset. What a fool.
“Mr Grant, are you coming?” Mrs Brookes calls impatiently into the wings.
“Yeah, I’ll be right out,” I sigh, running my hands over my face. Of all the awful things I thought might happen during my speech, finding out I’d unwittingly become a homewrecker wasn’t one of them.
But what’s done is done. Time to get my head back in the game. This night was meant to be my chance to prove that I deserve this promotion, and I’ll be damned if a wayward holiday romance is going to mess that up.