CHAPTER 24
MYLES
After Sheridan finishes making her plans for the light refurb on my flat, we head into the city. We go for lunch in the city centre at Antalya—the Turkish restaurant Sheridan did the interior design for—and then we stop by her friend’s little sewing shop to pick up a few things she had on order.
The owner, Sarah-Jane, is a beautiful fiery little thing with copper hair that cascades over her shoulders and down her back in thick waves, and an eclectic fashion sense. Her dress is a patchwork of fabric, colour and patterns, but it’s clearly handmade and one of a kind. I immediately decide that I like her.
“What’s going on next door?” Sheridan asks, which sets Sarah-Jane off on a tangent.
“Don’t get me started, Shez. You know that hotel closed down just after I opened this place, and those awful bastard owners have left it to rot. It’s awful behind those damn boards. Now, the owners have decided they want to sell the fucking thing. Now! After leaving it to fester into a shithole for three years!”
Sheridan winces, but whether it’s at the situation or Sarah-Jane’s volume, I’m not sure. “Yikes. Well, the good thing is it’s got loads of potential. It was beautiful before… It can be again.”
“I’ll be sure to tell the idiot who buys it that you’re the best interior designer in the world,” Sarah-Jane vows.
“Bit of a stretch, but I appreciate the plug all the same. See you soon, Sassy.”
“Bye Shez, and Shez’s hot friend.”
I have to laugh. “Can I put that on my CV?”
“Shez’s hot friend?” Sheridan grins. “Yeah, quality skill to have in your arsenal.”
“I think so.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “How do we feel about mini golf?”
She ponders this for a moment. “I’m terrible at it, as I am at most sports, but I enjoy it.”
“Wanna do that this afternoon? It could be our first official date…”
“And here I thought our first date was four months ago on the beach when we drew each other’s faces.”
“No, baby. That was just flirting.”
“Were you flirting? I can’t remember—I’ve slept since then.”
“Flirting or not, that was not first date-worthy, cute as you are. Come on, let’s trash mini golf.”
“Okay, okay,” she giggles, “mini golf it is.”
* * *
Four days later, while I sit behind my desk during my free Wednesday morning, I’m still thinking about Sheridan’s colossal loss at mini golf. And it wasn’t for lack of trying—she put her heart, soul, hips and ass into every one of those swings, and still managed to lose her ball on most holes around the course.
At least she looked cute as fuck while doing it, in her little pink dungarees and Docs. I’m not one for teasing either, but when we got back to the cottage, I made more golf innuendos than I care to admit. At least she found them funny. Making Sheridan laugh feels good—I love seeing that unfiltered joy on her face. I love a lot about her actually, but that thought feels a bit too deep and premature for such an early period in our relationship. If that’s what we’re doing. Again, we haven’t even discussed labels yet. I’m just glad she hasn’t told me to fuck off yet.
While I’m reminiscing on our perfect weekend, someone knocks on my classroom door.
I glance up as they slip in—one of the other teachers. I think his name is Bradley, but we’ve never spoken, and I don’t even know what he teaches.
“Hey, Myles,” he says with an awkward little wave. The bloke is exuding some serious nerd energy—woollen button-down vest over his shirt in a dull blue colour, with a tweed bow-tie to match. It’s wrong to stereotype, I know—he could ride a motorbike and sleep with a different woman every week for all I know. But his demeanour doesn’t suggest that at all. “I’m Bradley—I teach Physics.”
Oop, there it is. I would’ve guessed Maths, but I guess he does have a bit of a Big Bang Theory vibe going on.
“Hi, Brad,” I figure if I give him a nickname right off the bat, he’ll loosen up. The tension in his shoulders can’t be good for his posture. “How can I help?”
“Sorry for interrupting your free period, I just… I have the same one and Brinsley said you might be about.”
Brinsley does seem to have this habit of adopting the nerds. There’s me, for one. By week two she was having coffee every morning with a dorky looking Music teacher who went to Brit School, and last week she was talking shop with one of the History teachers about Henry VIII. It does not surprise me that she’s corralled this guy into her little gang, too.
“Sure, what’s up?” I offer him to sit, and he perches on the edge of a table rather than a stool.
Interesting.
“There’re two things, actually. Um, first, I thought you might like this.” He hands me a leaflet and then adjusts his collar, as if he’s about to start choking. I give him a cautious glance and then read the leaflet.
It details a competition through various different media for kids in schools and colleges to win an art scholarship in London. I’ve never heard of the company before, but it sounds interesting. I’d be willing to bet some of the GCSE kids would be interested.
“How did you find out about this?” I ask him.
Working with kids, you can’t just throw them into something if it’s not legitimate. I’m sure Brad knows this as a teacher himself, but it’s good to ask.
“Oh, the people organising the competition are uni friends of mine,” he says with the most confidence yet. “They know I work in a school, so they asked me to pass it on. It’s completely legit, authorised by the government. I’m sure you’ve got some talented kids who might be interested.”
I do. Even Jamie from my Year 9B group would probably like it.
“Thanks, Brad. I’ll look into it.”
“Cool.” He rubs his hands on his trousers as he stands.
Am I that intimidating, or is Bradley just nervous all the time? Do his students run riot over him? I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that classroom.
“What was the other thing?” I ask before he manages to escape.
Bradley blinks. “What?”
“You said there were two things. That,” I nod to the leaflet, “and something else.”
“Oh, right. Um…” He plays with his bow tie, then his vest, and then shoves his hands in his pockets, irritated with himself. “I’m sorry if this is weird, but I just wanted to put my mind at ease before I do anything.”
What a way to start.“Okay…”
“Are you and Emily…like, involved?”
I stare at him. “Emily, the French teacher, Emily?”
“Yeah.”
“Involved?”
“Yeah. Or dating, or f—” poor sod can’t even say the word ‘fucking’ out loud “—I don’t know, anything?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. Emily I are not involved, or dating, or fucking, or anything of the sort,” I assure him. And I don’t know why he thinks we might be.
“Oh.” Bradley nods, his bushy brows furrowing. I’ve met supermodels who’d donate a spleen for eyebrows like his. “Have you…?”
“Mate,” I splutter a laugh, because this conversation is getting weird. “No offence, but I don’t know you, and that’s not the sort of question you ask a stranger.”
“I’m sorry,” Brad groans, “I promise I’m not a complete loser. Here’s the thing: Emily is my girlfriend. Or, at least, I think she is.”
I’m bewildered. “You think she’s your girlfriend?”
“Yeah. So, in the summer, we were talking and flirting a lot. We went out a couple of time, did…you know.”
“You’ve slept together?”
Bradley blushes, and it’s kind of sweet. I didn’t think I’d ever use the word ‘sweet’ to describe another man, let alone an older one, but here we are.
“Yes. Like I said, she’s my girlfriend. When we came back to school, I asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes. We were seeing each other regularly, sleeping over each other’s places, doing couple-y things. And then the past few weeks she’s just stopped talking to me. Like, will not answer my texts, calls, never even acknowledges me here. She’s basically ghosted me.”
I expect him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Okay…where do I come into this?”
“Well, some of the guys said that you’re her type and that they’ve seen the two of you flirting.”
I try not to lose my temper. “And who are ‘the guys’?”
“The Science teachers.”
I roll my eyes. Who knew science bros would be such gossips? “Right. Firstly, no, I’m not sleeping, and have never slept with Emily. Second of all, I have it on good authority that Emily flirts with everyone, not just me, and you should probably be having this conversation with her, not me. Thirdly, I am involved with someone else and am not in any position to jeopardise that with someone I work with, because I like the girl a lot.”
Brad stares at me. “Oh, shit.” I’m genuinely surprised the bloke has the capacity to swear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. If it’s not someone you work with, then I guess it’s not Brinsley?”
This guy. “You are incredibly nosey for someone so awkward. But no, it isn’t Brinsley. It’s her sister.”
“Oh. Oh! Wait, isn’t she a twin? Doesn’t that get confusing?”
“They’re very different,” I bite out. I let loose a long sigh and drag my hands down my face. “Look, Brad, I don’t want to talk about my personal life on school grounds, not least because her sister works here, but so does her mum, and I don’t think Shirley knows yet. But I do wanna help you with your Emily problem, so how about we go for a drink later?”
“On a Wednesday?”
I give him a flat look.
“Right. Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Did you drive here?”
“No, I walk to work.”
“Good—meet me in the car park and I’ll drive us. Also, you need to get better friends. Or tell them to stop gossiping so much, especially when it comes to your life. That shit can be hurtful, and considering we’re in a school, they should know better.”
Brad seems shell shocked for a beat. “Wow. Thanks, Myles.”
“No problem.”
Bradley leaves with a spring in his step, and I let my head fall on the table.
That poor bloke. I don’t know if Emily is leading him on or she likes him and she’s scared, but I don’t know how I’ve got dragged into it.
Still, I want to help the guy. It might be good for me to have another friend at work, especially a male one, because I’ve been spending all my time with the Bennett women, and as great as they are, I need some variety.
* * *
“Mum said you made a new friend this week?” Sheridan says as I buckle up in the passenger seat of her Mini the following Saturday.
She woke up this morning and declared she wanted to go for a drive. Apparently, she’s a much more confident driver than I am, because I can’t say I’ve ever had that urge myself. It might have something to do with growing up in London and the fact that I never really had it as an option, but according to Sheridan, it’s one of the only times she ever really wants to leave the house.
To each their own.
“How does your mum know that?” I ask, even though I can probably work it out for myself.
“Well, Mum heard it from Brin and Brin heard it from Bradley. Bradley is the new friend, right?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “He’s a strange one, but I like him. His science teacher friends are just a bit…out of touch.”
“How so?” She turns the engine on and it’s a lot louder than I expected.
“They’re a little fantastical in their way of thinking. It was a big leap from the truth.”
“What you just said doesn’t make any sense.”
“They told Brad that Emily and I had been sleeping together. Emily is allegedly his girlfriend.”
“Emily the harlot?”
I give her a look and she laughs.
“How did they draw this conclusion?”
“Well, according to Brad I’m the most handsome faculty member so it made the most sense.”
“Ah.” Sheridan nods. “Seems like the men of the Science department have got a little man crush on you, Myles.”
“Not if they’re accusing me of stealing Brad’s girlfriend.”
She pats my knee. “It’s kind of a compliment if you think about it. What does Brad look like?”
“Why—you interested?” I joke. “Maybe we can all do a swap. You and Nerdy Brad and me and Emily the Harlot.” Sounds like a sit-com title.
She punches my arm and I laugh at the scowl on her face, but I can see she’s fighting a smile.
I think about him outside of his fashion choices. “Boyish, I guess? Like he’s obviously a few years older than me but he’s got a young face. Like that kid from Love Actually and Maze Runner.”
“Oh, yeah. I know who you mean.”
“But he’s stockier than that and his hair is darker.”
“What are his hands like?”
I throw her a look. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“A woman like Emily might be conceited on some level, but she obviously slept with him multiple times for a reason. Dork or not, Bradley clearly knows some tricks in the bedroom, and I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to do with reciting the periodic table or where certain foods fall on the PH scale. I’d bet he’s good with his hands.”
I stare at her, gobsmacked. I can’t believe that just came out of her mouth, quite honestly. “What are they meant to look like?”
“They’re not meant to look like anything. But slender fingers are a good start. The best people to talk to about male hands are the Scott sisters. Brandy especially.”
I frown and look at my own hands. I don’t know if they’re adequate.
Sheridan pats my knee in that way again, throwing me a smile. “Your hands are perfect, bab.”
Bab. I’ve noticed the Bennetts use that term of endearment a lot, especially with each other. It’s definitely a regional thing, because you wouldn’t hear a Londoner come out with it. I know Brian in particular uses it a lot.
Alongside a compliment like that, I feel a bit bashful.
We drive out of the village and away from the city entirely and into the Warwickshire countryside. Sheridan tells me about her week, which sounds eventful and exhausting, and I listen like it’s the best podcast I’ve ever heard.
She’s got a playlist on, which she refers to as her driving playlist. There’s all sorts going on, from country to pop to soft rock to hard rock. Every damn day I learn a new side of her, and her varying music taste is just one of them. As she sings along to Jungle, cruising the country lanes as if they’re the veins on the back of her hand, I find myself smiling, and I find myself falling.
I tell her about the competition for the kids, which I did a bit more research on after speaking to Brad about it properly. His friend’s company is bigger than I realised—it’s for all kinds of art and media and has great links to various platforms for young people to get into all sorts of creative careers.
There’s an art scholarship, but there’s also music, photography, journalism, social media, film and TV. It’s a great company and a brilliant starting point for young people to launch a career.
It’s not only for kids, though, and that’s why it’s important work. Even for adults who need a change in career, The Creation Coup is the best place to start.
Sheridan drives like she’s been doing it since birth. Even though, because the car is compact and low to the ground it feels like we’re constantly going 100mph, I feel safe with her driving. I think I might always feel safe around her, car or no car.
We drive the country roads for hours, through villages and parishes with pubs and churches, until we circle around to Stratford-upon-Avon just in time for lunch. We park up for a nice gastro-style interlude, and then we take a walk along the river and back. While it would’ve been nice to have Hector here with us, he never would’ve stomached a car journey that long. He’s spending the day with Brinsley instead.
It’s a warm day for late October and the sun is floating in the cloudless sky.
We pick up a coffee for the way back and sit on the riverside for a second before we get going.
Sheridan cuddles into my side as we sip our hot drinks, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, keeping her tucked close. I bury my nose in her hair, delighted with that apple scent she always carried.
“I never thought I’d be in one of those couples that cuddle on park benches,” Sheridan mumbles.
I don’t know if I want to shove off the joy that comes with hearing her refer to us as a couple. “Neither did I. I’ve been a bit of a whore until this past year.”
She snorts. “I’m quite the opposite.”
“You’ve had boyfriends before, right?” Anyone who gives head like she does must have had a boyfriend.
“One. With my lacking social skills, I’ve never quite had that finesse when it comes to relationships. And my one serious boyfriend was equally as awkward and lacked libido.”
“Yikes. How long did that last?”
“A year. Then he told me he’s gay and now he’s married to a man.”
“Oh, shit.”
She sniggers. “Oh shit, indeed.”
“You don’t seem very…upset about it.”
“What do you mean?” She peers up at me with that big cerulean gaze, and I just about melt into the Avon River.
I peck the tip of her nose. “I know a lot of girls who’d be scarred for life if their boyfriend dumped them for a man.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s stupid. I’m not the reason he’s gay. He was already gay before he met me. I don’t hate myself so much that I think I have the ability to change a man’s sexuality.
“We’re still friends—he’s one of the contractors I recommend for jobs. He invited me to his wedding!”
“That’s cool. I like that you didn’t let it bother you.”
Sheridan scoffs and settles back into my side. “It is what it is. Unless it happens repeatedly, there isn’t a problem.”
“Can we go back to the other thing where you called us a couple?”
“We are a couple!”
“We haven’t had that chat yet,” I retort.
“Okay, fine. I’m not sleeping with other people. Are you?”
“No” I say firmly.
“Do you want to sleep with other people?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. I also say we skip the ‘exclusive’ stage because it’s stupid.”
“Is that you asking me to be your boyfriend?”
She seems to think about this for a minute, her gaze trained on the calm river. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
I lean forward, blocking her view of the Avon, and smack a kiss to her lips. “I’ll be your boyfriend, Birdie, as long as you’ll be mine.”
“You want me to be your boyfriend?”
I pinch her waist and she yelps. “Cheeky girl.”
She makes a happy little noise that brings a smile to my face. “I really need to break the news to my mum.”
“I thought you already told her?”
“No, not yet.”
“But she told you about Brad.”
“Yeah, Myles, people like to tell me shit about your life now. Like Brin texting me every day with what you’re wearing. Mum likes to keep me up to date on your social life, for some reason.”
“You’re gonna make her the happiest mum on the planet.”
“Yeah… I just need to figure out how to convince her not to tell the boys.”
A horrible but valid point. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”