Chapter 5
SJ had met Tom at a fortieth birthday party thrown by one of her A-Level students. Julie was an older mum who had worked with a travelling theatre company before she’d decided to put her career on hold to concentrate on her IVF twins.
‘They’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but I miss adult company and I thought English Lit might stop me from ending up completely brain dead,’ she’d told SJ with a smile when they’d first met.
Julie was smart and lively with a great sense of humour and SJ had always liked her, although she hadn’t immediately accepted when Julie had invited her to the party.
Although adult education wasn’t like teaching children, there was still an unwritten rule about getting too involved with individual students. It could cause conflicts in classes: SJ knew more than one tutor who had lived to regret getting over-friendly.
‘Oh, please come,’ Julie pressed, sensing her hesitation. ‘It’ll be fun. I’ve invited the whole cast from Jack and the Beanstalk. They’re doing the Hackney Empire at the moment.’
It had sounded like fun. And it looked like fun, SJ thought, as her cab dropped her off outside the pub annexe that Julie had hired for the party.
It was nerve-racking going into a room full of people she didn’t know, but a very nice lady – Julie’s mum, she suspected – met her at the door.
‘Actor? Friend from school? Or miscellaneous other?’ she greeted SJ with a grin.
‘Miscellaneous other,’ SJ said, just as Julie spotted her and ran over with a squeal.
‘SJ – brilliant. I’m so glad you could come.
Mum, this is the tutor I was telling you about.
She can make the dullest of literary tomes sound fresh and new.
’ She kissed SJ on the cheek. ‘Honestly, Mum, if it wasn’t for SJ I’d have gone stark raving mad…
’ She broke off as someone tapped her on the shoulder.
SJ was slightly relieved. She’d never been good at getting compliments and English Literature wasn’t exactly a life-changing course.
Not like Hypnotise your way to Happiness, or Slim your way to Success, which were two other courses Hackney College did, and ones she fancied trying herself if she ever had time.
Julie’s mum turned to greet someone else so SJ made her way towards the bar.
The oblong-shaped annexe, which looked like it had once been a skittle alley, was already packed and was loud with the thrum of music and chatter.
She felt a little intimidated; it was ages since she’d been to a party, and then she hadn’t been on her own.
Everyone seemed to know everyone else and the new pink top she was wearing, which had seemed fine in the shop, now felt too tight and revealing.
This was mostly thanks to the cab driver, who had both told her breasts the fare and also thanked her breasts for the tip.
Hot as it was, SJ wished she’d worn a jacket. She was still trying to attract the barman’s attention when she heard Julie’s voice behind her.
‘Sorry about abandoning you.’
‘Oh, that’s okay.’ She turned to find Julie clutching the arm of a tall man with a sheepish grin and very blue eyes.
‘This is my cousin, Tom. He doesn’t know a soul either. Tom, this is Sarah-Jane, my English tutor. SJ for short.’
‘Hello.’
‘Can I get you a drink?’ They spoke at the same time.
‘Gin and tonic, please.’
Tom was managing not to stare down her top, which was a relief. He was obviously a man of subtlety.
‘Are you an actor?’ she asked.
‘No. I sell aviation software – not very exciting, I’m afraid.’
‘Don’t be afraid.’ SJ studied his side view discreetly as he stood at the bar. He was wearing a cobalt-blue shirt, and his black hair was untouched with grey. He had nice ears: very flat and neat and clean. He looked older than her, maybe late thirties, but he was wearing well.
She liked the way he attracted the barman’s attention without being pushy, and then gestured her ahead of him back through the throng of people.
There weren’t any unoccupied tables and the chairs that were free were festooned with bags and coats. SJ berated herself for arriving so late.
‘We could sit outside if you like?’ Tom suggested. ‘There’s a lovely pub garden. And we’ll be able to hear ourselves speak.’
She followed him past blown-up photographs of Julie at various ages, and on through a fire exit, which gave way to a patio area, set up with bench tables and chairs.
Silver helium balloons emblazoned with the number forty floated from several tables that were occupied by clusters of people, deep in conversation.
Tom led her across the lawn – a square of dark velvet in the shadowy dusk – to a table on the edge. Just beyond it was an oak tree and there were rose bushes somewhere. She could smell their sweet scent drifting across the summer air. Tom was right. It was beautiful out here.
They sat on a slightly damp wooden bench and he quizzed her about her work.
She found herself relaxing with the help of the alcohol and telling him all about her love of poetry – she never told anyone about that – and how she’d always fancied starting up a class which made poetry fun and not the dry boring subject many English teachers would have you believe it was.
‘Poetry and a Pint – I think it could really take off. You know how some poetry gives you this pain here,’ she said, touching her left breast to demonstrate and suddenly realising that Tom, who was now obliged to look at her cleavage, still wasn’t gawping. He was going up and up in her estimation.
‘Like the sort of pain you get when you listen to sad music or look at a beautiful picture,’ he offered, proving that not only was he a good listener, but that he was sensitive and possibly artistic, too.
‘Exactly like that.’ SJ was warming to her theme. ‘Well, having a pint in your hand would help, wouldn’t it? It would be a sort of drowning your poetry sorrows. A pint is the perfect accompaniment to a poem. What do you think?’
Tom nodded thoughtfully and SJ liked him more and more.
‘So how about you?’ she said, realising she’d been monopolising the conversation. ‘Tell me about your life. What do you like doing?’
‘I like good food and wine; eating out in pubs – the old-fashioned type with flagstones and log fires and preferably a Michelin star.’
SJ nodded approvingly.
‘I like going to antique fairs too – I collect vintage beer bottles.’
‘What – full ones?’ she asked in fascination.
‘Sometimes – but mostly it’s the labels I’m interested in. My granddad used to take me to antique fairs when I was small. He was a great wheeler-dealer – he used to collect breweriana – and he left me his entire collection when he died.’
‘I’m sorry,’ SJ said. ‘I mean that he died, not that he left you his collection.’
Tom smiled. ‘It was a long time ago.’
She watched him sip his pint. He had nice hands too: stubby fingers, but neat nails, and a thick gold ring on his middle finger with some kind of crest on it.
‘There was a time when I thought I might go into antiques; they’re a bit of a passion. But then I ended up selling software instead. Which is probably better paid.’
‘Money isn’t everything.’
‘No, I agree. But I love my job. Salesmen are born and not made, some say. But then teaching’s a vocation too, isn’t it? Julie speaks very highly of you. Apparently you’re the most inspiring teacher she’s ever met.’
‘I do love it,’ she said softly. ‘I love seeing people’s confidence grow as they realise the classics aren’t as dry and inaccessible as they seem – that all literature is basically about people and their problems, their loves and their heartbreaks.
It’s brilliant watching people fall in love with words. I guess that’s why I like poetry too.’
‘And how about your loves and heartbreaks?’ Tom asked softly. ‘Have you never wanted to get married, SJ?’
Oh, blimey, she’d walked right into that one. ‘I’m divorced.’ She hoped it wouldn’t put him off. ‘I got married too young. It didn’t work out.’
‘Was it long ago?’
‘Yes, we got divorced just over two years ago.’ She shifted her gaze from his as a group of teenagers spilled into the garden and lit up cigarettes. One of the lads, with over-long curly hair and a Byronic look – definitely an actor – tilted his head and blew smoke rings up into the purple sky.
SJ breathed in appreciatively and Tom looked ever so slightly pained. So that was something they didn’t have in common. Oh well, she planned to give up soon. It was a horrible habit.
‘Do you get on with your ex-husband? Are you still on speaking terms?’ He rested his chin on his hands and studied her, his eyes curious.
It seemed a strange question. If she’d got on with him that well, they wouldn’t have split up.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.’ For a moment he looked vulnerable.
‘It’s okay. And no, we don’t speak any more.
’ Neither had she wanted to date anyone else, but she didn’t tell him that.
Her hands felt sweaty in her lap. Suddenly she longed for a cigarette.
Inside the party they were playing a Robbie Williams song, ‘Let Me Entertain You’, which had always reminded her of Jacob.
She swallowed hard, forced her ex-husband’s image out of her mind and concentrated on Tom.
‘So how about you? Have you ever been married?’
He shook his head. ‘I work long hours. I don’t have time for much socialising.’
‘Workaholic?’
‘Julie thinks so. She insisted I came tonight. I’m glad I did.’
‘Me too,’ she murmured, feeling an unexpected sense of security steal over her.
There was something very peaceful about Tom.
Something solid and steady like the bulky old oak tree behind them.
He was nothing like Jacob, who’d always fizzed with energy and impatience.
He was nothing like her usual type of man at all.
There was no raging chemistry between them. Yet she did like him. She liked him a lot. Maybe subconsciously she was searching for someone as different to her cheating ex as possible. Someone she could be comfortable with. Someone who wouldn’t break her heart.