Chapter 23
‘Be good, Bud.’
The car honks for the third time, and I hurriedly grab my bag and race downstairs before my neighbours have a chance to get out of their beds to tell me off for waking them before nine on a Saturday morning.
‘Best hurry, dear,’ Mr Galanis shouts as I pass his open kitchen window and look in to find him sitting at the table in his dressing gown with a pot of tea in front of him. ‘Don’t worry about the cat. I’ll be up to feed him shortly. Have a great time.’
‘Thanks, Mr G. I’ll bring you back a postcard.’
Len is standing against his Volvo SUV with the driver’s door open and his hand on the steering wheel, ready to beep me again when I round the corner.
Every year, at his behest, the English department takes a pilgrimage to Stratford-upon-Avon, the birthplace of Shakespeare, to visit the Royal Shakespeare Theatre to watch one of his plays, walk in the bard’s steps, drink too much wine, enjoy some team building time and generally remind us why we got into teaching this subject in the first place.
Last year’s trip was great – we saw The Merchant of Venice, had some amazing cocktails in a cute black-and white Tudor-fronted bar we found, and I loaded up on posters to decorate my classroom with.
This weekend is meant to be another social, fun, work-but-not-work trip away.
I’ve been looking forward to doing it again, but I’d rather not start the weekend with my head of department scowling at me.
‘Sorry, sorry.’
‘Come on, or we’ll hit the traffic. The satnav’s already saying it’s going to be three hours. Didn’t I say we should have set off earlier?’
‘Sorry.’
I go to the boot to dump my bag, regretting my decision to save a bit of money and accept the lift with Len, who is giving out serious pissed-off dad vibes, instead of taking the train with Katie and Alice, the two English teachers I’m friendly with, who will probably be eating croissants and drinking little cans of gin and tonic about now.
I thought this car journey was going to be just the two of us, so I’m relieved when I hear a cough coming from the back seat as I squeeze my bag in the already crammed boot. The front passenger seat is still unoccupied, so I climb in and turn round to see who is joining us.
‘What the hell?’
‘Charming,’ Elliot says, his lips curling up into a smirk.
‘Oh yes, Lizzie. I forgot to tell you yesterday, didn’t I?
Glenda dropped out last minute, leaving it far too late to get any money back for her place.
As Elliot has always loved these trips, I decided to ask if our new assistant head would deign to join us again this year although he’s not technically part of our department,’ Len tells me, unable to hide his bitterness at Elliot’s new job title and the promotion over his head.
‘Lovely,’ I say, turning around and smiling back at Len.
Is it lovely? I’m not sure. For Elliot, I suppose it is.
He spends most of his weekends working now, so a chance to unwind and spend the next forty-eight hours not holed up in his flat bent over his laptop is a good thing.
I’m not so sure for me. This last week, I’ve not seen him as much as normal, our ten-minute lunch check-ups taking a back seat.
The past three days, I’ve eaten lunch alone.
After the weirdness between us at Karina’s, I was worried about seeing him back at school, but like always, on Monday morning it was as though nothing happened.
We managed to snap back to normal, but doing so this time took a lot more of my strength.
By Tuesday afternoon I felt worn out, so it’s been a good thing him being so busy and us having a few days apart.
I was quite looking forward to an Elliot-free weekend, too.
A weekend of not thinking about him, of not having to remind myself he’s Teddy’s boyfriend multiple times a day, of deliberately not noticing how handsome he is and how much my body still wants him would have been good for me. But now that’s not going to happen.
‘Just a second, gang. Let me get my sunglasses from the boot.’ Len jumps out the car and immediately, I turn to Elliot.
‘What the fuck?’ I whisper. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
He narrows his eyes at me as if he’s trying to work me out, work out what the reason could possibly be for me being pissed off rather than delighted he’s saved me from hours alone with Len. ‘Because I’ve been mad busy this week, and I presumed Len would have mentioned it.’
‘So busy you couldn’t even text to warn me?’
‘Warn you?’
‘I meant tell me.’ Heat spreads up my chest and climbs up my neck at my choice of words. ‘You could have texted to tell me.’
‘You’re right. I could have texted, but to be honest, I didn’t think I had to. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.’
I don’t know how to reply to that. He’s still looking at me like he doesn’t get what’s going on, and I suppose he wouldn’t get it.
He doesn’t know that him being here is any different to any of my work friends being here.
He doesn’t know that as soon as I saw him in Len’s car and realised he must be coming on this trip too, my stomach started doing somersaults.
‘No, you didn’t,’ I relent. ‘Sorry. It’s great you’re coming,’ I say, adjusting my tone to something close to sunny.
‘Yeah, it’ll be fun.’
‘It sure will.’ I give him a smile before turning back round, and we wait for Len in silence.
‘Let’s get going then, shall we? I’ve a brilliant audiobook I thought we could listen to on the way down. I take it we’re all fans of Jeffrey Archer?’ Len asks when he’s behind the wheel, ready to go.
I never thought I’d be grateful to a middle-aged ex-politician with a penchant for writing masculine thrillers, but by the time we pull up in front of In Fair Verona, the guest house Len chose – presumably on name alone – I’m tempted to leave Jeffrey a five-starred Goodreads review as a thank you for giving me a three and a half hour trip where Elliot and I didn’t need to make small talk with Len or each other once.
‘This is perfect, Len,’ Elliot says when we get out of the car and stand on the pavement assessing the stone front of the guest house with net curtains in the upstairs windows and a clear view of the rest of the English department drinking wine and loafing on couches through the large bay window on the ground floor.
‘Glad you like it,’ Len says. ‘Come on, son, you’re sharing with me.’
Len leads off and Elliot follows, turning back to me with a pretend-terrified expression on his face.
I giggle. Poor Elliot. Len is famous on these trips for three things.
His tour-guide style commentary when walking around the town, his generosity when it comes to buying drinks and his incredibly loud snoring.
We get checked in, and Len and Elliot head straight up the stairs to their joint room while I turn into the lounge area I saw from outside and join Katie and Alice on the sofa.
‘What the hell is going on? Why is Elliot here?’ Alice, the newest teacher in our department, asks, looking alarmed.
‘Oh no, don’t you like him?’ I ask.
‘Of course I do,’ she tells me. ‘He’s lovely, but he’s also incredibly fit if you hadn’t noticed, and fit men make me nervous.’
‘So fit,’ Katie agrees. ‘If I wasn’t married, this weekend would be taking a dramatic turn.’
‘Yeah. Damn my husband, too,’ Alice laments.
Having two people confirm how fit Elliot is and how much they’d like to have sex with him isn’t exactly what I need to be hearing right now. ‘Sorry guys, he has a girlfriend, and she’s amazing,’ I say as much to myself as to them.
‘Lucky cow,’ Alice says. ‘Shit, here he comes.’
The three of us turn round to watch Elliot coming down the stairs at speed.
‘You didn’t mess around getting settled in,’ I say.
‘No, erm, Len needed to use the facilities, and I thought it better if I made myself scarce.’
‘Poor you,’ Katie says, leaning forward and reaching over when Elliot squeezes on the sofa next to me so she can pat his knee. ‘If you need a little break from him this weekend, my door is always open.’
I wonder how many gins Katie and Alice had on the train.
By the time we’re all settled in and unpacked, and Len has taken a power nap to recover from the drive, it’s gone two and we’re behind Len’s schedule.
We’re booked in to look round Shakespeare’s birthplace at three, and the planned leisurely potter through the town centre with a stop at a tea shop is reduced to a hurried dart past the River Avon and a power walk down pretty streets lined with quaint Tudor buildings, some looking so old they might tumble into the road at any moment.
We’re ordered straight past the many inviting tearooms with cream and jam-filled scones in their display cabinets, not slowing down until we reach Henley Street and are outside the exceptionally well-maintained Tudor facade of Shakespeare’s house.
At least it’s a pleasant day. The April air is warm with the promise of warmer weather to come, and the sun is high and bright in the sky.
This will be the third time I’ve been to Shakespeare’s house, and although I find it fascinating to step back into history and imagine him as a real person, the rooms are small and dark.
After being stuck in the car for so long, I have a craving for fresh air and exercise.
I bide my time until we’ve queued up and are near the entrance.
‘I might skip the tour this year, if you don’t mind,’ I say when Len has already produced his ticket to the attendant.
‘Why would you want to do that?’ Len says, genuinely surprised.
‘Sorry, I’ve a bit of a headache. I’ll take a walk to try and shift it and meet you back at the guest house.’
‘Fine,’ Len says. ‘But don’t forget we’re eating early.’
‘I might do the same,’ a voice says from behind me.
‘Never,’ Len says. If he was shocked at my choice not to go in, he’s astounded at Elliot’s decision.
‘Sorry, Len. You can tell me all about it over dinner.’