Chapter 4
The mouse and the kitten
Rafe
She was angry. It was almost fascinating to watch. She’d gone from terrified mouse to bristling, hissing kitten in under a minute. To be honest, up until this point, I had wondered if she could string two words together.
When I came into the classroom earlier, I had trouble believing that the Miss Clara I was presented with could possibly be the one that Ozzie raved about at home.
Mouse-brown hair with a heavy fringe which she used to hide underneath, thick-rimmed glasses, small pale face, tiny frame swamped in an over-large jumper, worn trainers that had seen better days.
I was shocked that Mrs Clayton allowed such a scruffy individual to work at the school.
Then seeing her shuffle after me like she was being led to the gallows and shaking like a leaf in front of me once we were alone, avoiding eye contact and barely managing to get her words out, was all just plain ridiculous.
Well, her chocolate-brown eyes were meeting mine now.
For the first time, I could properly see her face and, with her delicate features flushed with anger, I realised that she was actually quite pretty.
No, scrap that, with the thick dark lashes framing her eyes, her high cheekbones, lipstick-free light pink lips and delicate jawline set at a stubborn angle, she wasn’t just pretty – she was beautiful.
“Ah, so you can speak,” I said as a slow smile spread across my face. “I haven’t been so thoroughly put in my place for a long while.”
She blinked up at me a couple of times and swallowed nervously.
I watched the angry flush on her cheeks fade until she was almost unnaturally pale.
My smile dropped as the shutters came back over her beautiful eyes, and then I clenched my jaw in frustration when she broke eye contact to look back at my goddamn tie. For fuck’s sake.
“S-sorry,” she whispered, back in mouse mode.
“Apologising when it’s unwarranted is a very annoying habit,” I snapped.
Maybe I could irritate her back into the defiant kitten again?
I told myself it was because that version of Miss Clara was capable of communicating about my son, but, in reality, it had more to do with wanting to see her gorgeous features alive with anger again and not shuttered away.
“I know,” she said quietly, looking past me towards the door, clearly counting down the seconds until she could get away, which pissed me off as well. The way she said I know didn’t sit right with me. It was with a strangely resigned tone that had an almost hopeless quality to it.
My hand went up to squeeze the back of my neck – a habit I fell into when I was at a bit of a loss, which was rare.
But then I noticed something. Little mouse’s gaze followed the path of my arm and then watched my chest expand as I moved.
Two small flags of colour appeared high on her cheekbones, and she blinked twice.
Maybe she was terrified of me, but that didn’t mean she was incapable of finding me attractive.
Desire shot through me so strongly then that I had to shove the hand that wasn’t squeezing the back of my neck into my trouser pocket to stop myself reaching for her.
I cleared my throat. I needed to get a hold of myself and sort this out.
Ozzie was my priority now, and I was not in the habit of allowing my attraction to a woman influence any interaction I had with them.
“Listen,” I said, then almost smiled again when her gaze snapped back to my tie. Little mouse had been too distracted to realise she was checking me out. Good. “I’m the one who should apologise.”
That got her attention. She blinked in shock and then even managed a very brief bit of eye contact as she frowned up at me in confusion.
“I’m sorry I questioned your teaching ability,” I explained.
“But I needed to know what was going on. Like you say, Ozzie has struggled over the last few months. I want to make sure his teachers are getting it right this year, and I wasn’t convinced that telling him he’s different was going to be very helpful. ”
The mouse and the kitten were grappling for control now. That bit of defiance set her features again, and she met my eyes for a moment before focusing back on my tie.
“It will help his confidence to know that his brain works differently.” She swallowed and squared her shoulders, clearly working up her courage again.
“Different isn’t always bad. He needs to understand that, otherwise his confidence will sink even lower.
Th-th-th…” She broke off and closed her eyes for a second before she continued.
“The games we play and the aids I use at school are helping Ozzie. Have you noticed a difference at home? With his reading, I mean?”
I rubbed my hand down my face before I spoke again. “Ozzie won’t read for me at home,” I said quietly. “I’ve tried everything, so has his nanny, but he just… won’t do it.”
“Oh, I…” she broke off and bit her lip. “Well, is there anyone at home who…?” She closed her eyes again for a moment and shook her head.
“Lord Sterling, is there anyone at home who might have been less than encouraging with him? Anyone who has maybe been somewhat… impatient with him when he’s reading? ”
I frowned. “Are you accusing me of lacking patience with my son, Clara?” My voice was low and threatening now.
It was the same tone I used in court when defendants stepped out of line.
Unfortunately, judging by the way Clara was now shaking like a leaf again in front of me, it may have been overkill in this situation.
“N-n-no,” she stammered. Bloody hell, I’d brought the stammer back.
“I-I didn’t necessarily mean you.” She swallowed nervously again.
“There might be another caregiver who has maybe put him off. It’s not always deliberate.
Sometimes people think dyslexics are being deliberately lazy or obtuse when they can’t see the words or understand how to process things. ”
I huffed. “I’ll talk to Ozzie,” I conceded. “But the nanny I employ is highly qualified, I assure you.”
Clara made a humming noise, and I raised my eyebrows. “You have an opinion on Ozzie’s nanny?” I asked.
“N-n-no, I––”
The shrill noise of the school bell cut off whatever she’d been about to say, and Clara flinched before her shoulders sagged in relief.
“I have to go,” she muttered then turned quickly on her heel and literally sprinted out of the room.
Now, rightly or wrongly, with the way I looked, my bank account being the way it was and my reputation, it was incredibly rare for a woman to run in the other direction.
I tilted my head to the side as I watched Clara disappear through the classroom door.
And for the first time in my life, I had to resist the urge to chase after a woman.
“Oz, you know how you’re not keen to read to me at home?”
Ozzie stiffened in his position perched on a stool at the kitchen island. His hand, holding a cookie which was halfway to his mouth, froze.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the cookie and frowning down at his plate.
“Well, why do you think that is, buddy?” I asked gently.
This was the first time we’d actually discussed this calmly without it being some sort of battle.
Normally, I approached Oz with a book, told him we had to do his school reading, and he lost his shit.
He’d shout at me that reading was stupid.
It broke my heart, and I just didn’t know how to handle it properly.
“Dunno,” he mumbled, pushing the cookies around on his plate now, having seemingly lost his appetite.
I climbed onto the stool next to him and scrubbed my hand down my face, searching for the right words.
Why the hell was this so hard when all day at work I managed complicated legal cases with complete verbal ease?
“Was it something I said to you, Oz?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
I knew I could be impatient and I had a bit of a temper, but I tried really hard to rein that in with my son.
I had thought I’d done a pretty good job up until now.
Ozzie only really ever saw me angry about his mum, and even then I made an effort to mask my frustration with her.
I couldn’t remember upsetting him when we were reading; just one day, he came home and point-blank refused. Greta, his nanny, told me he wouldn’t read with her either. It was weird. It pained me to admit it, but I had to agree with Clara – something was off here.
“Nope. Can I have a sleepover with—?”
“Oz, let’s stick with this for the moment, right? I need to get to the bottom of it. You’ve got to read at home as well, mate. If I’m doing something wrong, then—”
“I’m not stupid, okay?”
I blinked in confusion. “Ozzie, I never said you were stupid. That’s the last thing you are. What’s going on?”
“S’nothing,” he muttered, jumping off the chair. I stood to block his path before he could bolt.
“Please, talk to me, Ozzie,” I pleaded. “I can’t help sort it if I don’t know what’s bothering you.” I crouched down so that I was eye level with him and put my hands on his small shoulders. “We’re a team, right? You and me: we’re the best team. Like The Octonauts, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Daddy, I’m not a baby. The Octonauts are lame.”
I smiled. Ozzie still watched The Octonauts all the time, but whatever. “Okay, like The Avengers.” I softened my voice. “You’ve got to tell your team members what’s going on, right?”
He blinked down at his feet, and then, to my shock, I saw a tear tracking down his cheek.
“Hey,” I said gently, pulling him in for a hug. His little arms wrapped around my neck as his body shook with low sobs. I felt like my heart was breaking. “What’s all this now?”
“I-I-I…” His breath was hitching too much between sobs to get his words out. I lifted him up in my arms and strode across to the sofa, sitting us down and then stroking his hair back so I could see his little red face.
“Take a few slow breaths, Oz,” I said softly. “You can tell me in your own time, okay?”
He looked up at me with his tear-filled eyes. “The thing is, Daddy, I know I actually am stupid. I know it.” There was a long pause, and I forced myself to wait for him to speak again. “I been told it.”
Pure rage shot through me at that, but I tamped it down, making my voice even when I asked, “Ozzie, who told you that?”