Chapter Two History Bites #2
The shift in the room was immediate. Not because of Freddie himself, but because of what he represented.
Police. Authority. A reminder that the reason a copper was standing in front of a hall full of teachers wasn’t routine.
Conversations ebbed away. Pens stilled. Even the air seemed to quiet.
Everyone knew whatever he was here to say, it needed listening to.
“I’m PC Freddie Webb, Worthbridge community policing team. Lead safeguarding liaison for the borough. Today’s focus is grooming, gang exploitation, and how those patterns are evolving, particularly with vulnerable young people.”
And there it was. The reason for the hush. The collision between the kids these teachers saw in their classrooms and the risks waiting for them the moment the bell rang and the gates opened at three o’clock.
“I know it’s a heavy topic. I also know it’s easy to assume these things won’t happen in towns like ours. That grooming gangs are something that happens elsewhere, at other schools, in other cities. But these networks are smart. They’re opportunistic. And they target the kids we least expect.”
Jude leant forward.
“Grooming doesn’t always look the way we imagine.
It isn’t white vans and strangers. It’s social media DMs. Flattery.
Gifts. Emotional manipulation. And increasingly, it’s peer-to-peer.
Young people being used to recruit other young people.
” He glanced across the room, eyes catching Jude’s again.
“Teachers are on the front line of this. You’ll see the changes first. Withdrawn behaviour.
Sudden money or tech. Obsession with a new ‘friend’ they won’t name.
Fear around phones. Secrecy. You might not be sure what it means.
But if you notice a pattern—say something.
We’d much rather be called too early than too late or not at all. ”
He clicked again. The screen behind him filled with local resources.
Numbers. Contacts. Signs to watch for. Jude jotted them down, heart tight.
Not just for the kids. But for himself. There was something about hearing those words striking a little too close to home, reinforcing the reason why he was here.
Why teaching had become more than a job.
Because he’d once been one of them. A vulnerable kid. Overlooked. Easy to miss.
And no one had helped him.
Well, someone had. And that’s why Jude understood firsthand how vulnerable young kids responded all too easily to flattery and empty promises.
The session wrapped for a break, and Jude left, slipping out before the usual teacher chit-chat could pull him in. He glimpsed Freddie and the others near the stage, shaking hands with Mrs Temple, and so made his escape. He needed a minute.
The staff toilets were mercifully empty, and he chose a cubicle instead of the urinal, closing the door behind him to breathe for a few beats.
To calm his trembles. He flexed his hands into fists, then out again.
One. Two. Three. Once stable, he stepped out, took his glasses off to splash cold water over his face, then stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Get it together.
He then wiped his glasses on the hem of his shirt, pushed them back up the bridge of his nose, squared his shoulders, bracing himself to yank open the door. And when he did, he walked straight into Freddie.
“Hey, Jude.” Freddie offered a quick smile, but it didn’t quite land, as if he’d been waiting. Or hoping not to run into him. Maybe both.
Jude tilted his head. “Most people sing that line, y’know.”
Freddie huffed out a quiet laugh, tucking his hands into the front of his stab vest. “Yeah. Not much of a singer.”
“No?” Jude gave a faint smile. “Won’t be seeing you down the Dog and Duck karaoke, then, no?”
He went to slide past, but Freddie blocked the narrow space between them.
“Jude…?”
Jude stilled. Turned. Faced him.
Freddie scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve been meaning to… call you. Pop by.”
Jude blinked behind his lenses. “Oh?”
“To see how you were doing. If you’re okay. Not seen you around this summer. At the karaoke night or, well, anywhere you used to be.”
Jude looked down at the polished floor, at the faint scuff mark near Freddie’s boot, anything but Freddie himself.
The words were kind. Enough to make his chest tighten.
It was easy to forget how nice Freddie could be.
Even after he’d drifted. After Nathan had come back and pulled him into something intense, complicated, and real.
Jude didn’t begrudge it. How could he? Nathan and Freddie had finally found their way back to each other.
They had a love that never really left. Probably never would.
He knew what that was like.
Still, hearing Freddie say he’d thought of him hit deeper than it should. But too late for it to matter.
He forced a smile. “Never been friends with the heat. Burn to a crisp. Northern, remember?” He let out a laugh, but the second he saw Freddie’s face, he realised what it might have sounded like.
The fire.
Shit.
“I meant the summer,” he added quickly. “Not—well, not that.” He gave a half-hearted chuckle, which could have been mistaken for a snort.
Then composed himself. “Honestly, I’m okay.
Had stuff to catch up on. Did a few city trips.
” Lie. “Saw some mates.” Bigger lie. “Bit of decorating.” That part at least was true.
Freddie nodded. “Glad you got out and about.”
Jude nodded back, ready to walk away, but something tugged at him. A thread he hadn’t meant to pull. He paused. Turned back.
“And Alfie?” he asked quietly. “How’s he doing?”
Freddie’s face softened. That smile again. Smaller this time. Real.
“He’s… okay.” The pause between words spoke volumes. “Nightmares mostly. Still flinches at sudden noises. Gets tense in crowds. But we’re working through it. Nathan’s doing everything he can. We both are. It’ll help, I think, once we’re all under the same roof.”
“You’re moving in together?”
“Yeah.” Freddie gave a small, hopeful smile.
“Found a three-bed semi close to the seafront. Bit of a fixer-upper, but it’s got a garden.
Nate wants to plant veg. Y’know, give Alfie a patch to work on.
My place sold quicker than expected. We’re waiting on the surveys and hoping we’re in by Christmas. ”
Jude nodded, each word pressing on something soft and sore. “I’m happy for you. And I’m glad Alfie’s got you both.”
“He talks about you, you know.” Freddie met his gaze then. Properly. A quiet, unwavering look making Jude feel more seen than he was ready for. “Alfie. Says you saved his life.”
Jude blinked, something catching at the back of his throat. He didn’t know how to hold that kind of praise. He never had.
“I did what any teacher would’ve.”
“That’s not true. All the other teachers left the building. And I know you hate hearing it, but… you are a hero, Jude. Whether you like it or not. Definitely one of the good guys.”
Jude swallowed hard and nodded, afraid his voice might betray him if he spoke too soon. But he eventually pulled himself together.
“Take care of yourself, Freddie. Tell Alfie I’m glad he picked history over geography for his GCSE.” He then slipped past the door and back into the hall, where chatter rose again and coffee cups clinked along the rows of chairs.
Sliding into a seat near the back, he clasped his hands in his lap to still their fidgeting, when the chair beside him scraped back and the new bloke—Mr Bailey, wasn’t it?—settled his bulk into it. Up close, he was broader, heat rolling off him as if he’d carried the gym in with him.
“Thought I’d come shake the hand of the resident hero.” He held out an open palm to Jude.
It took a moment, but eventually Jude accepted it.
And he could have drawn in a breath at the size of his hand.
Warm, too. With the drag of calluses and faint scars dotted over the back.
Sport-born, Jude guessed. Rugby, probably.
He had the shoulders for it. And Jude stared at those powerful, broad blades for far too long.
So he yanked his gaze up to the man’s eyes instead. Softer than the shoulders. Kinder.
Jesus. Why was he noticing?
Must be Freddie’s fault. Him being here. The first man Jude had tried to date in a long time had cracked something open in him. Some door he’d kept bolted. Now he was noticing men again, leaning into them instead of shying away through fear and survival.
“Not much of a hero.” Jude slipped his hand away to nudge his glasses higher up his nose. “The firefighters and paramedics are the real ones.”
“Room full of people clapping for you says otherwise.”
“They clap at the end-of-year drama performance, too. Trust me, once you’ve seen that, you’ll realise applause means absolutely nothing here.”
Bailey winced. “That bad, huh?”
“I had ringing in my ears for a week after the Year Seven chorus.” Jude shook his head. “In fairness, though, the Mamma Mia tap routine nearly tipped me into early retirement. The psychological scars are… ongoing.”
Bailey chuckled, then cocked his head. “I hope there’s video evidence. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re a harsh reviewer.”
“Oh, there’s footage. Google Classroom, summer term folder. Look for the Year Seven lad who missed every beat but tap-danced with such delusional self-belief, I’d put money on him running the country by the time he’s thirty.”
Bailey barked a laugh, unfiltered and warm. “You’re making me panic for if you ever observe my class management now.”
“Aren’t you PE?” Jude turned to face him fully, narrowing his eyes in mock judgement. “Surely your version of classroom control involves shouting across a field and dishing out burpees like party favours.”
“Stereotype much?”
“Call it professional observation.”
“Uh huh. Next you’ll say we always ask for twenty more.” Bailey winked.
“Twenty more what?”
“Quid, if I can get it. Teacher wages don’t cover my Hobnob habit.”
“Ah, so it was you who took all the good biscuits this morning.”
Bailey held up his hands. “Guilty. Relapse in recovery.”
“You’d better up your rates, then, sir.”
“Why? You think this lot can afford it?”
“Depends on how many TikToks have gone viral over the summer. Honestly, some of the kids earn more than we do before the bell rings.”
Bailey chuckled, low and rough around the edges.
Gravel under velvet. And it rumbled in Jude’s chest, uninvited, leaving an odd flutter in its wake.
Could’ve been the bass in his voice. Or the scent of whatever aftershave lingering on his collar.
Or maybe it was the sheer muscle mass at his side, impossibly close but not claustrophobic.
Solid. Sturdy. A presence someone could lean into without realising.
Someone who wasn’t Jude.
Mrs Turner took her place at the lectern, clearing her throat into the mic with enough passive-aggression to silence the front three rows.
Jude vaguely remembered this was the safeguarding refresher.
Or behaviour policy update. Something essential, undoubtedly.
Shame his brain had short-circuited somewhere between “gimme more” and Bailey’s grin.
“Warren, by the way,” Bailey whispered right at his ear, warm breath trickling down his skin that hadn’t been this alert in years. “Only like being called sir in certain circumstances.”
Jude blinked. Sat upright. Swallowed the flutter and offered back, just as quietly, “Jude.”
“Nice to meet you, Jude,” Warren whispered. “I’m looking forward to trading war stories with you in the coming months.”
Jude resisted the urge to turn his head again. “Reckon you can stick it out that long? These kids are brutal. You’ll get a nickname you might not like.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
Jude gave him a deliberate once-over. “Sir Abs-a-lot.’”
Bailey barked a laugh, which got everyone’s attention, including Mrs Turner, who stopped her presentation to glare at him.
“Sorry!” Warren raised a hand to his mouth. “One too many Hobnobs at the break.”
Jude snorted, ducking in his chair to hide his grin, then adjusted his glasses as if that might help him recover his composure.
Warren leaned in close again. “You’re trouble.”
“Least I don’t get caught,” Jude whispered back, pretending to write notes on what Mrs Turner was banging on about.
“Then I’ll be watching you.” Warren smiled. Winked.
And Jude felt a strange shift in the air. Subtle but certain. Like recognition. That moment when a book falls open to the exact page he needed.
He looked away, suddenly too aware of how long he’d been smiling, and thought maybe cupid did deliver to business addresses after all.
Stupid.
Utterly stupid.
Mr Warren Bailey was far, far too good to be true.