CHAPTER 27
MYLES
On Tuesday when I start my Year 9 lesson with the B group, I notice that Sam—who continues to insist he possesses no artistic talent but is always the first one to arrive and engages more often than I expect—is absent. I only see these kids for two hours every week, but some of them still leave an impression—like Jamie who always has to be the loudest in the room but backs it up by being an amazing cartoonist, even at the age of fourteen. Or Erin, who flirts with anyone who will pay her a lick of attention but still gushes over the idea of me and Brinsley from time to time.
Sam sticks out not only because he looks like a pubescent Shaggy from Scooby-Doo most days, but also because he tries with me. Across all of my Key Stage 3 groups, my favourite students have become the ones that try.
It’s almost ten o’clock by the time he appears. I’d checked the daily bulletin where the admin team posts the absent or sick kids with an excuse, but he wasn’t on it. Assuming my hunch that Sam is growing up in a care home, his tardiness is concerning. I was only ever late when something bad happened at home.
The morning passes by quickly after Sam’s mumbled apology. As with most of my classes, it’s a flurry of activity and vibrant chatter. Jamie is still talking about the Rangers result from Saturday and drags me into a conversation about Beau’s style. Trying to appear neutral on that one is difficult. Erin loudly announces that the boys in Year 9 are immature and stupid and that any future prospects of boyfriends will be taken from Year 10 or above. I have to keep myself from lecturing her on how ‘above Year 10’ amounts to sixteen year olds and would be a massive problem for a lot of people.
I notice that Sam, while not the gobbiest of students, hasn’t said a single word since he arrived. I ask him to stay behind when the bell goes.
“Am I in trouble?” He asks when the room has cleared out.
I study him for a second—his demeanour is hunched, and he trembles occasionally. I notice a nasty bruise on his wrist where his sleeve has ridden up, and he’s quick to pull it back down again when sees me assessing it.
“No, Sam, you’re not in trouble.” I assure him with a flash of a smile. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re never late.”
He gives a shrug that’s been the subject of adult skits across the world. “I’m fine.”
“Can I ask why you were late, then? Since you’re fine.”
“I had to take my sister to school.”
“Do you do that every day?”
“No, Helen does.”
I know my eyebrows are joining my hairline.
“She’s my foster mum. And Pip is my foster sister.”
“Ah.” Sometimes, having a foster family is worse than living in a care home. “I see.”
Sam laughs in such a bitter way that it adds ten years to him. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you see?” He bites, and the anger rolls off him like a crashing wave. “Everyone, especially adults like you, behave like you know what the fuck is happening in my life when I mention foster, or care. You don’t know, and you don’t see shit.”
I wait a second to see if he’s going to continue, because the worst thing I think I could do in this instance is talk over him. When I’m sure he’s done, I gesture to the closest table and sit at it. “Sit with me for a sec. I wanna tell you something.”
He scoffs. “Tell me what? Are you gonna compare your lower-middle class upbringing in some random North London borough to mine right now? ‘Cause if you are, I am not interested.”
His dismissal stings a little, and yet I completely get it. I, too, used to walk around in my teen years with a chip on my shoulder the size of a small country, wondering when the world would be put to rights.
I gave him a placating smile, “When I was seven, I got sent to my very first foster home. A family. I was so excited I wet myself on the way there, but it didn’t matter. I still didn’t really understand the difference between fostering and adoption, but this was it, you know? A family—a real one.
“They were good people, but they were old. Maggie and Brendan O’Hare. Irish, retired, practically on death’s door. They’d had their own child who caught a terrible disease years before and died as a teenager. They never wanted to replace her, so they decided to foster instead, and they did it their whole lives until me. I was the last one.”
Sam, who has been gawping at me slack-jawed for the entire period, finally sits opposite me. I take that as a cue to continue.
“Turns out our Brendan had dementia and Maggie had severe arthritis. Six months after they fostered me, I was shipped back to the care home and waited for the next one. They both died by the time I was ten, and yet they were the best foster family I ever had.
“I’ll be honest—the next ten years or so were not fun. I was in and out of that house like it was a hotel. Some of the foster families were okay, and others were awful. And I’ve seen shit no one should ever have to see.” Sam grins at my cursing, and I give him another tentative smile. “I never got adopted and my entire childhood was spent being passed from family to family like a joint at a uni party. That sticks with you, Sam.”
“I’m sorry I snapped, sir.” He appears genuinely guilty and that bothers me.
“I get it. You and I are in this little boat surrounded by everyone else in their big boats. You were never gonna know I’ve had that life, too. And I know why you would assume that—because I had the same experiences. People love to pity the kids in care, but they don’t want to do anything about it.”
“I stopped telling people I was in care when I came here. You get treated differently, and I just wanted to feel normal for once,” Sam mumbles, staring at the fake wood laminate on the table.
“I get that. But like recognises like, Sam. I knew the first day you walked into my classroom.”
He grimaces. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me. Can you do something for me?”
Sam looks at me with wariness. “What?”
“That anger you’re feeling—you’re entitled to it. It is justified. But don’t let it consume you. Don’t let it make you stupid, because you’ll regret it.”
He narrows his gaze. “Sounds an awful lot like there’s a good story there, sir.”
“There’s a story, but it definitely ain’t good.”
“Will you tell me?”
I check the clock and sigh. “I was probably your age. Maybe a year older. I’d been living with this big foster family for a while, and they were the worst kinds of people. Proper London scum—dad was a drug dealer and the mum used to sleep around. With a penchant for underage boys, I should add. House was always a mess. Their actual kids were, quite frankly, arseholes. It was definitely the worst house I’d lived in.
“One morning I got into it with the dad. I’d spent the night batting off the advances of his wife and was angry by my lack of sleep. Then when I got up in the morning the dad was still drunk and getting nasty. After a bit of back and forth, I called him the less pleasant version of a waste of space, and he hit me in the gut in response.
“I took my anger with me to school. Some of the kids learnt I was in care and used that against me. They saw the state of me that morning and started gobbing off. I was getting pretty tall at this point, and I’d been doing the heavy lifting around the house, so when I reached the end of my tether and snapped, I caused a lot of damage. One of the boys ended up in hospital.”
“Oh, shit.” Sam is gaping again.
“Oh shit, indeed. It didn’t stop there, either. Any time anyone possessed me off I’d lash out. I didn’t stop until they sent me back to the care home. By that point I had a bit of a reputation and a nickname to go with it.”
“What was the nickname?”
“They called me The Bear.”
Sam laughs, delighted, “Sick.”
“Well, no, not really.” I wince. “Look, Sam. I don’t want you to end up like that, alright? I was messed up as a kid and you’re way better than me already. I’d hopefully like to keep it that way. That being said, I want you to know you can come talk to me if it ever gets a bit much.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“Also, please don’t repeat any of this to anyone. My girlfriend doesn’t even know about the Bear thing, and I’d rather tell her myself.”
“Isn’t your girlfriend Miss Bennett? The English teacher?”
I roll my eyes. “No. It’s her sister. But keep that to yourself, too,” I say as I stand.
“Woah,” Sam laughs again, “sir. Is she as fit as Miss Bennett?”
“They’re twins.”
“That’s a yes, then. Nice one. Is it true they’re related to Beau Bennett, the footballer?”
I stare at him as I hold the door open, and I realise I’ve just given this kid enough ammunition to absolutely destroy me if he ever needed to. “You’ve had enough personal details out of me today.”
“Also a yes, then,” he says cheekily, and then he sobers some. “Thank you for talking to me, sir. Sorry if I was a dick earlier.”
“You’re forgiven. Just keep your head up and keep talking to me.”
“I will, thanks.” He turns to leave and then pauses, “You should tell your girlfriend about the Bear thing, though. I feel like that’s something she probably needs to know.”
And I know for a fact the kid is absolutely right. As soon as the door is closed, my head falls to the table.
* * *
Later that night, after we’ve eaten and are tucked up in bed, I share my secrets with Sheridan.
She is attentively quiet and asks questions when she thinks of one. But her body language never changes—she stays in my arms, her fingers skimming the lines of my face and neck throughout, and I love her for it. I think I am in love with her and I’m not afraid to admit that to myself.
“Thank you for telling me, Myles.” She whispers when I’m done, still stroking my face. “I hope you know that I don’t judge you for what happened and I’m proud of the man you’ve become despite it. You might be my favourite person.”
I hold her body closer to mine and press my lips to hers. “You are absolutely my favourite person, Birdie.”
I could follow that up with an ‘I love you’. It’s on the tip of my tongue, like the words might crawl out of my mouth if I open it wide enough. But I don’t know if she’s ready to hear them yet and I don’t want to overwhelm her. I think I do enough of that already.
We kiss for a little longer and then she burrows into my chest like it’s the only place she wants to be, and I feel that warmth, that love, for her spread through my body like medicine. I think this woman has cured me from something I didn’t know I was suffering.
It’s quiet for so long that I think she might have fallen asleep, and am about to do the same when she speaks again:
“When I was sixteen, I tried to commit suicide.”
I freeze like I’ve been tasered, and then my arms instinctively tighten around her. “What?” I croak.
“That’s why Beau is so protective of me.”
I pull back to look at her, and find her staring blankly at my chest, at the bear tattooed on my abdomen. “That’s… I don’t know what to say.”
Sheridan hums a little laugh, and I think she finds me genuinely amusing. “Most people don’t.” She looks up at me. “I had very unstable emotions as a teenager. I was on contraception long before I lost my virginity in attempts to balance my hormones. I started puberty when I was seven.”
“Seven?”
“Yeah… I was a handful at home sometimes. I had these bipolar tendencies where I’d go from quietly brooding and sulky to a screaming lunatic. Sounds like any teenager, I guess, but I was seven, nearly eight. And then I had my first period in the middle of P.E and everyone thought I was weird.
“I spent a few years in and out of hospital before they learned I had a cyst on my ovaries that needed to be operated on. I could’ve become barren, and it could come back. I was on medication all through school and college for various different things.
“In amongst all this, I started to draw a lot. The kids who already thought I was psychotic used my strange drawings as ammunition. Nash, going through his own complexes, often joined in and encouraged bullying.
“I got to sixteen and couldn’t bear the thought of going on in life being made to feel shit about myself, or knowing there was a possibility I wouldn’t have kids of my own, or even just constantly being in and out of the hospital. I felt like I was drowning in self-hatred and the hate of everyone else.
“So, I took all my tablets at once and got in the shower. Next thing I know, I’m at the hospital again.”
“Jesus, Sheridan.” I squeeze her tightly, and she hugs me back.
“I know. When I got the clear to go home, I went through several rounds of therapy. Nash backed off. I found something I was good at while I studied at home. The girls—Emma, Bailey and Brin—rallied for me. The summer after school finished, they were at our house all the time. I learned to accept that I couldn’t change the things about my body that failed me, and that none of it was a reason not to live.
“I stopped all my medication just over a year ago and I honestly have never felt better. I just don’t think Beau has learnt that yet. I never got over my social anxiety but it’s easy enough to live with. I got better with it over time, if slowly.” She laughs despite herself. “Maybe one day I’ll finally cross that bridge, maybe I won’t. But I know I’m happy right now and I don’t need to change anything. Well, maybe Beau, but…”
God, this woman. This fucking woman. “You’re incredible, Sheridan Bennett. I hope you know that. I’m so lucky I met you.”
She gazes up at me with a cerulean smile that utterly does me in. “I’m lucky I met you, too.”
I meet her mouth with mine, and we kiss, and we kiss and we kiss some more until I’m on top and inside of her and there isn’t an inch of skin untouched, until there is no space between us, until we are linked together, and I have all of her and she has all of me.
This woman—this delicate, strong, beautiful woman is mine, and I love her.
I love her.
I love her.
I love her.
When we’re done and I’m once again holding her close to me, cocooning her into the protection of my body, I whisper all the praise I have for her until she tells me I’m utterly ridiculous.
“Utterly ridiculous I may be, Birdie, but it doesn’t change that I’m right. You are marvellous and you can do anything.”
“Except handle big crowds,” is her attempt at a joke.
“I think you could do that too, if you wanted to.”
“Your faith is misguided, handsome, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”
I preen at her compliment and make gobbling noises into her neck. “I’d be with you every step of the way if I needed to be.”
“I know you would. Something tells me you wouldn’t ever let me down.”
“It would in no way benefit me to do that. Why would I jeopardise moments like this with you?”
“Stop with the charming words or I will pounce on you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I murmur into her neck, my hands making the most of her exposed backside.
“Myles,” she breathes.
And just like that we are together again, moving our bodies as one to extinguish the constantly reigniting flame between us.
In the silent moments after, Sheridan asks, “Do you think I’m a fool for not going to the awards next month?”
“I’ve never once thought you’re a fool, Birdie.”
“But do you think it’s a mistake? Not going?”
I turn my head to look at her, and the little crease between her brow has me worried. I reach out and smooth it away with my thumb. “The decision is yours, baby. It’s your show, your characters, your anxieties and your feelings. If those feelings tell you not to go, then don’t go.”
“Myles, I don’t know what to do. Part of me thinks I should.”
“So go, then,” I say simply.
“But I’m scared.”
“So don’t go.”
“But it’s a really big deal to even be nominated. And they sent me a reminder today because I haven’t RSVP’d and it got me thinking about it all and that, actually it might be fun to go considering I might never get nominated again… And I did something I never do and looked at the comments on the show, and on the Toonies site, and… People were so nice about it.”
“Because it’s awesome, baby,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her forehead. “Go.”
She sits up and turns to look down at me, nervously chewing her lip again. Like a greedy bastard, I eat up the sight of her nakedness and graze my hands over her side and front.
“Would you go with me?”
“I would go anywhere with you.” I don’t think I’ve ever said something and meant it as much as I do right now. Again, those three little words are on the tip of my tongue.
Iloveyou.
“You’ll come to the awards with me?”
“Absolutely.” Because I’m in love with you.
“I’ll buy you a new tux for the occasion.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Shez, you don’t need to bribe me—I already said yes.”
“Right.” She covers her face with her hands, “I guess we’re going.”
I pull her on top of me and kiss her firmly, chaste. “You can’t change your mind now. I’m committed to seeing you in a sexy dress and all dolled up.”
“I admittedly can’t wait to see you in a tux.” She giggles.
“I look good in black tie.”
“You look good in everything,” she grumbles, and I pinch her bum cheek just to hear her squeal.
One last time tonight, I completely devour her.